Hero's Dozen
by Random Equinox
Summary: You would think that going planetside to pick up a package would be fairly straightforward. But when the planet is Illium, the package is intended for Cerberus and the man sent to intervene is Shepard, all assumptions go straight out the airlock.
1. Mission Briefing

**Hero's Dozen**

_**Editorial Note**__:_

_Throughout the decades and centuries, I have noted that change can be one of the most exciting and terrifying constants in the universe. It can be seen in the rarified halls of academia, when a lowly researcher dares to present a controversial and novel theory. It can be witnessed on the battlefield, when a new weapon or a new tactical doctrine is introduced. It can be witnessed in something as simple as the handover of editorial duties from one individual to the next. _

_After submitting my own editorial revisions and commentary on one of Shepard's missions, I was approached by Admiral David Anderson, who proposed that I take over as permanent editor of Shepard's personal logs. As thrilled as I was to be presented with such an opportunity, I must admit that I found the prospect to be quite daunting. I had literally just released my edited logs to a select group of readers, after all. Readers who were used to Anderson's particular style, what he responded to and, just as important, how he responded. How would they react to _my _interpretation? Would they reject me as a usurper? An ever-so-arrogant asari who presumed to impose her opinions and judgements on the masses?_

_Thankfully, I found the reception much more welcoming. Whether it was the titillating idea of an asari perspective or the satisfaction of reading the reactions of one of Shepard's comrades-in-arms, I cannot say, though I suspect it may be a combination of the two. _

_It is with this encouragement that I submit a new collection of Shepard's personal logs for readers with the appropriate security clearance. As always, I have grouped the logs into chapters where appropriate and offered whatever insights I could provide where appropriate. Goddess willing, my work will meet with a similar reception. Any failure to properly convey what happened is mine and mine alone._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Liara T'Soni. _

* * *

**Chapter 1: Mission Briefing**

When I look back, I don't think I've ever visited the Citadel for fun.

The first time I went to the Citadel, it was at the behest of the Council. TPTB wanted answers on how a potential Spectre candidate, from an upstart race that had caused more headaches in the last couple decades than any other race had in the last couple centuries, managed to botch a supposedly simple mission and let a Spectre die on his watch. **(1)** Not exactly a friendly invite. The reception wasn't that warm either, though the fact that Anderson and I were accusing their golden boy Saren of treason probably had something to do with that.

My subsequent visits were mostly by choice: I chose to return to the Citadel to bring Anderson up to speed while he was stuck behind a desk. I chose to return and see the latest guns and goodies that were being sold—and then promptly sell off all the excess guns and goodies that I'd picked up here and there. I chose to return to Udina, confirm all the stories he'd heard about my progress and watch his face turn various shades of purple. At no point was I invited to drop by for an idle chat.

Then I died. Yeah, that happened. Never did get the T-shirt. **(2) **

Next thing I know, I'm being summoned back to the Citadel. Why? Because TPTB had heard that I'd popped up on the radar after a two-year hiatus, saw that I was in the company of Cerberus and promptly decided that I'd gone rogue and was working with the enemy. If it wasn't for Anderson, they'd have voted me guilty _in absentia_. As it was, they reinstated me as a Spectre and sent me off to investigate all the colony abductions in the Terminus Systems, a token gesture considering that Spectres had no authority out there, they didn't want me to come back to Citadel space and they didn't want to hear how I was doing.

I came back to Citadel space anyway—heck, I went back to the Citadel itself—but mostly for shopping. And by that I mean gadgets that could ruin other people's day or upgrade my increasingly nasty arsenal. No casual get-togethers for me.

It was with that in mind that I opened my e-mail inbox. After sifting through the junk mail that EDI's ever-evolving filters didn't quite catch, I was left with only a dozen relevant e-mails. One of them was from Anderson. I opened it, hoping against hope that the universe was throwing me a bone. Maybe Anderson wanted to reminisce about the good ol' days. Maybe he got tickets to some sports game on the Citadel:

_Shepard,_

_There have been a lot of developments over the last couple months. I need to talk to you in person to discuss one of those changes and what to do about it. In my opinion, it is right up your alley. _

_If you have a moment, you can find me on the Citadel. _

_Admiral David Anderson _

So much for that idea. At least the universe was consistent.

* * *

"It's that last part that bothers me."

Miranda had said that several times now. To be fair, so had I. And for good reason: "I know. You're sure there isn't anything in the news?"

She shook her head. "Nothing that would explain Anderson's resignation from the Citadel Council. Or his promotion to Admiral."

"Other than the fact that he was sidelined by the rest of the Council and was stuck politicking and talking instead of actually _doing_ something," I snorted.

"At least there's an explanation for his promotion to Admiral," Miranda pointed out. "He had a proven and sterling track record and was on the short list of candidates for years. The only reason he wasn't already an Admiral when you became his XO was that he kept turning down promotions in favour of postings like the Normandy."

"If anyone deserves it, it's him," I agreed. "Even if he was fighting it every step of the way."

The airlock doors opened at that point, indicating that the usual docking and decontamination procedures were complete. _"Logged: the commanding officer is ashore," _EDI announced_. "Garrus Vakarian has the deck. Commencing ship-wide calibration." _**(3)**

The last thing Miranda and I heard before the airlock doors closed were the sounds of the bridge bursting into laughter. I turned to Miranda. "Your hearing's better than mine. Did EDI say anything about that being a joke?"

"Actually, she did," Miranda replied.

"You think she'll stop appending her jokes with that clarification?"

"Maybe," Miranda shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"Yeah, I guess."

With that done, there was nothing left but to walk to the skycar, get in, fly to the nearest C-Sec customs site, get through the C-Sec customs site, find another skycar and fly to the Presidium. While I could see how such measures could have been instituted in the name of security, it all seemed a little excessive and inefficient. And by that, I mean it seemed flat-out stupid. But they don't pay me to—actually, scratch that. They don't pay me at all. **(4)**

As we walked, I found myself paying attention to the people. That, in itself, was a bit unusual. Most people—civvie or otherwise—who visit the Citadel on an infrequent basis tend to look at the scenery first. The way it looked so modern and cutting-edge, despite the fact that it was built millennia ago. The way it stretched so high, you could actually believe you were on a planet looking up at the sky.

Every time, I looked at the scenery though, I kept looking at it from a tactical perspective. Points of ingress or egress. Sniper perches and sight lines. Traffic movements. Behavioural quirks and tells that distinguished security officers—plainclothes as well as official—from the usual mix of civvies and military personnel.

After a while, I managed to push it to the background, subconsciously detecting and logging all of that while focusing on the people themselves. Men and women, old and young, all from different species. Passing each other in the midst of their daily routine. Stopping to greet each other. Going about their lives. I'm not sure why I found this so fascinating. Maybe it was because it all seemed so… normal. Growing up as a navy brat, bouncing from ship to station to ship, I never experienced anything like that growing up. Everything was so homogenous—I don't just mean that I spent my childhood amongst nothing but humans, though that was entirely true. It's just that, all my life, I'd been surrounded by Alliance military and the children of Alliance military. Chatting and wheeling and dealing with anyone else? Civvies? _Aliens_? I never experienced anything so normal until well into adulthood.

I know that some people wouldn't regard that as normal. Some people would find that too busy. Too hectic and cosmopolitan. But for me… I guess there was part of me that yearned to have that kind of life. Something I never had. Or maybe I was drawn to all that constant movement, that lack of permanence that was so reminiscent of my youth.

It was at that moment that I noticed Miranda looking at me. I filled her in on my thoughts.

"I've been thinking the same thing," Miranda admitted, "though my childhood gave me a different perspective."

Right. Childhood lost while being trained and bred to be the perfect woman. Not surprising that she might look at things from that less-than-rosy set of lens. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that she might get depressed again. She had had an extremely difficult and, some would say, emotionally abusive childhood. Virtually her whole life had been spent trying to get out of the shadow of expectations cast by her genetic potential. I started thinking of something to do or say to lift her spirits.

Turned out I didn't need to. Maybe she decided that there was no need to burden both of us with her past. **(5)** "You know, that turian should do a better job of blending in," she said casually. "He stands out like a sore thumb, the way he stands so stiffly."

"And that batarian over there?"

"The one glowering at the asari diplomat?"

"Yep. Everyone's so focused on him that they're ignoring the human 'merchant'."

"Judging by the way his fingers are tapping, either he's secretly accessing his omni-tool or he's got a nervous twitch."

"Speaking of humans, what do you make of the one over there?"

"Female? Redhead?"

"Yeah, that one. She seems very interested in us."

"Ignore her. Acknowledging her in any way would only encourage her."

I glanced at Miranda curiously. She had this long-suffering look of aggravation and annoyance that was somehow slipping out of her usual façade of self-control. "I take it you recognize her."

"Sadly, yes."

* * *

We spent the next half hour identifying people who were trying to stay undercover. Easier and safer topics of conversation, I guess. Miranda still hadn't told me about that last e-mail in the Shadow Broker's dossiers. It was still one big mystery to me. Part of me wished she'd just tell me what it was all about. Maybe I could help. Of course, that was probably my curiosity rearing its ugly head again. Normally, I don't really mind poking around in other people's business. But Miranda wasn't just 'other people,' was she?

I wasn't any better. Liara's conversation about saying how I really felt still echoed with me. I still hadn't opened my big mouth yet. Was it because it was just too soon? Or was I just being one big coward? Sadly, I didn't have any firm answers to _that _mystery either.

Eventually, we went our separate ways. Miranda was going to a café with extranet access to contact her sister. She'd arrive well before their prearranged contact time, but that was all right considering all the countermeasures she needed to establish to prevent any unwanted busybodies from tapping into the transmission. It was a sheer coincidence that the café was also on the Presidium. Yeah, I didn't buy that either. To be fair, Miranda wasn't trying very hard to pretend.

For my part, I'd arranged to meet Anderson in the Embassy Lounge. It had been over two years since I last set foot in there—and it still looked exactly the same. Still as exclusive and expensive as ever. Guess diplomats like to have at least one thing they can rely on, considering how yesterday's buddies can become tomorrow's worst enemy. Or vice versa, of course.

It took a while to find Anderson. Partly because there were a lot of people in fancy duds and formal outfits milling around for happy hour. **(6)** Partly because he was sitting at a corner table that was obscured by a large potted plant and a floor-to-ceiling vid-screen displaying an ad for the latest perfume. In fact, his table was placed in such a way that it was impossible for anyone to get a line of sight on him. Not without leaning backwards in a precarious and blatantly obvious position. Or unless someone was practically hugging the wall.

As I approached Anderson, I also noticed he was all dressed up in Alliance-standard formal military attire. More proof, if any was needed, that he wasn't a politician any longer. A subtle hum vibrated through my body as I passed the vid-screen. My vision suddenly blurred, so I had to rely on a tell-tale series of beeps to realize that my omni-tool had abruptly rebooted.

Anderson was kind enough to wait until my optical implants completed a similar reboot—which thankfully finished well before my omni-tool—before rising to his feet. "Shepard!" he greeted me warmly.

"Sir," I responded, snapping to attention and saluting him before I knew what I was doing. Old habits die hard, I guess. **(7)**

Anderson saluted me back before extending a hand. His handshake was just as warm as his initial greeting. "Please sit down," he said, gesturing to the table. "Sorry about making you meet here."

"Don't be," I replied. "Between the public nature of this café, the location of this table and the unintended ECM provided by that vid-screen, it's a perfect spot for a covert meet." **(8)**

A waiter came over. Seeing that Anderson had already ordered a cup of coffee, I did the same. "So, how have you been?" Anderson asked when the waiter left.

"Pretty good," I responded. "Staying out of trouble, for once."

We shared a chuckle, though Anderson's sounded a tad more rueful. "I wish I could say the same," Anderson sighed.

"I take it this has something to do with the fact that you no longer respond to 'Councilor'?" I suggested. "Should I be offering congratulations on your promotion to Admiral?"

"Thank you," Anderson nodded graciously. "None of its official yet, so keep it to yourself for now."

"Does this have anything to do with your request to meet me here?" I asked.

"It does," Anderson confirmed. "And there's quite a bit of background to cover, so we'd better get this briefing started."

I motioned for him to continue.

"An old friend of mine contacted me—Kahlee Sanders. We'd met twenty years—no, twenty-one now. Yes, we met twenty-one years ago. She was working on a project to develop AIs before her base got ambushed."

"Wait a minute," I exclaimed, leaning forward. "You mentioned something similar to this before, when command of the Normandy was first handed over to me. Some rogue scientist developing AI technology in the Skyllian Verge, Saren was investigating and you were ordered to tag along since the Alliance had uncovered the latest leads, right?"

"Good memory," Anderson nodded approvingly. "Kahlee was working for that scientist—Dr. Qian. He was careful to disguise the research as an attempt to give humanity a military advantage, compartmentalizing tasks amongst his research staff, but Kahlee pieced together enough facts to determine that it was actually a study on an alien artifact. One that might pre-date the Protheans."

"Alien tech. Pre-dating the Protheans," I repeated. "That has 'Reaper' written all over it."

"In hindsight, I can't see any other conclusion," Anderson agreed. "Especially when you factor in Kahlee's observations that Dr. Qian had become increasingly obsessed with the artifact."

Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where this was going. "Indoctrination."

"Exactly."

As if on cue, the waiter returned with my cup of coffee. Anderson accepted her offer to refill his cup. The next few seconds were spent in silence as the waiter left and I added a bit of cream and sugar. **(9)**

"In the course of the investigation, Kahlee got captured by a krogan battlemaster and mercenary," Anderson spoke at last, "who was working for Dr. Qian and a batarian co-investor. "Saren was sent to rescue her and apprehend Dr. Qian. Ambassador Goyle convinced the Council to let me come as well, both to help rescue Kahlee as well as provide a chance for Saren to assess my merits for consideration to join the Spectres. I managed to save Kahlee, but... well, you know the rest."

Yeah. Mission went FUBAR. Doc got whacked. Eezo refinery where Kahlee and Qian were hiding went up in smoke. Lots of people died. Saren made Anderson the scapegoat, costing him and humanity a Spectre position.

"Anyway, Kahlee and I went our separate ways. I had my career and Kahlee was reassigned to another classified research project."

Somehow, I had the feeling that Anderson was… disappointed about the way things turned out. The way he referred to Kahlee by her first name—hell, the way he looked whenever he talked about her—suggested that they had been, well, close. **(10)**

"At some point, Kahlee returned to civilian life and joined the Ascension Project's board of directors. One of her students was a young girl named Gillian Grayson. Unbeknownst to her, Gillian's 'father' was actually a Cerberus operative."

"By the way you say that, I assume this guy wasn't actually her father," I guessed.

"At some point, Cerberus had found a baby with high biotic potential," Anderson nodded. "They gave her to Grayson to raise as his own child with the intent of enrolling her into the Ascension Project, convincing him that she would become the future 'savior' of humanity."

I shook my head. "Cerberus had a facility on Pragia dedicated to developing biotic potential, with all the disregard for morals and human life that you'd expect. After that went bust, they had to focus on keeping tabs on the Ascension Project. Now I know how they did it."

"Between Grayson and Dr. Jiro Toshiwa, a staff member who was also working for Cerberus, they were in an ideal position to learn the latest in Alliance biotic research and training techniques. They also used Gillian—the 'daughter'—as a test subject to inject with experimental serums and medicine in order to accelerate her biotic potential."

And that's why I enjoyed every moment of my time with Cerberus. **(11)**

"After one of these 'injections' went awry and the identity of this staff member was discovered, Grayson played the part of the distraught parent, insisting that Gillian be withdrawn from the Ascension Project for her own safety. Kahlee insisted that she and one of the Ascension Project security staff accompany them. Their efforts to evade Cerberus led them to seek refuge amongst the quarian Migrant Fleet."

"But Cerberus caught up to them," I interrupted, recalling Tali's revelations.

"They did," Anderson said. "The quarians managed to fight them off, in part thanks to Grayson. Kahlee had managed to convince him that his loyalties to Cerberus were misplaced. After the conflict had ended, Grayson sent a message to the Illusive Man, declaring that he was done with Cerberus and threatening to release all he knew if they went after Gillian or Kahlee."

"That must've been interesting," I said wryly. "The Illusive Man doesn't really like quitters for some reason."

"No, it didn't," Anderson sighed. "_That's _why Kahlee contacted me. She'd received a message from Grayson, one recorded in the event that he had been captured by Cerberus, complete with an attachment of all the data he had on Cerberus. We arranged a covert meeting on the Citadel to discuss what to do with Grayson's intel. By that point, it was clear that the Alliance had been thoroughly infiltrated by Cerberus."

Yeah. As depressing as that might be, it wasn't hard to imagine. Not after spending so much time working with Cerberus. _With_, not for. **(12)**

"So we went to the turians."

I needed a moment to digest that. "Wow," I marveled. "Human-turian relations _have _been improving,"

"It has been for some time," Anderson reminded me. "Take the partnership in developing the original Normandy, for instance. More importantly, the turians have become significantly more receptive to engaging in joint operations with the Alliance since your recommendation to save the Council."

There was that, I suppose. Nice to see there was _some _benefit from saving the collective asses of TPTB.

"Besides, I'd come to know one of the turian ambassadors during some recent trade negotiations."

Aha! The _real _reason came out at last!

"Using Grayson's intel, Ambassador Orinia organized several squads of turian soldiers to strike at high-value Cerberus targets and recover any prisoners. One of the squads reported that they had rescued Grayson… but then they went dark."

Uh oh.

"Kahlee and I decided to return to the base where Cerberus was holding Grayson, with some turian escorts, and find out what happened. What we discovered…"

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"Apparently, Cerberus went back through the Omega-4 relay and sifted through the remnants of the Collector base," Anderson revealed.

"Of course they would."

"They salvaged a great deal and began analyzing it in an effort to better understand Reaper technology. Its strengths, its weaknesses."

"Of course they did."

"And the Illusive Man decided that, since Grayson had betrayed him, that he'd be an ideal test subject to study the effects of Reaper technology on organics."

"Which explains why Grayson and the squad escorting him suddenly vanished," I groaned. It was all so predictable, once you thought about it. "Grayson must have been transformed and indoctrinated, subdued and eliminated the turian squad that was trying to rescue him, and went AWOL. So did you find him?"

"Indirectly, yes. After getting captured by Aria's forces."

Cerberus. Reapers. Anderson working with the Hierarchy. Now Aria. This briefing was just full of twists and turns.

"Aria wanted to kill Grayson for some reason. She lured him to Omega, using Kahlee as bait. The first part succeeded. Unfortunately, everybody had underestimated the extent to which Grayson had been transformed. He slaughtered his way through Aria's forces and escaped. We got free ourselves and began to look for a way off Omega so we could pursue him. Then we bumped into a Cerberus operative."

"Another one?"

"Yeah. Kai Leng. Former Alliance lieutenant and N7 graduate… before he joined Cerberus. He claimed he could help us apprehend Grayson and reverse what had been done to him."

"Please tell me you didn't believe him," I snorted.

"I'm not that gullible," Anderson smiled grimly. "We pretended to accept his help, followed him to his shuttle, then overpowered him and tied him up at the earliest opportunity. It didn't take long to realize that Grayson—or perhaps I should say the Reapers—was headed for Grissom Academy."

That was where the Ascension Project was stationed. Didn't take a genius to figure out why: "The Reapers wanted to acquire all the students—and their biotic potential—for their own uses."

"We got to Grissom Academy, but we were too late: Gray—the thing Grayson had become beat us there, killed the guards and had begun transmitting data to the Reapers. Kahlee went to evacuate the students while I tried to stop him. Took a while, but I eventually succeeded with the help of Kai Leng—who'd managed to free himself. I wish I could've captured him, but I had to help one of the students before he bled to death. At least I managed to cripple the bastard before he escaped."

"Did Kahlee and the students make it out okay?" I wanted to know.

"Everyone made it out safe and sound," Anderson said, with a sigh of relief. "I decided to form a research team to study Grayson's remains. It's gruesome and possibly unethical, I know. But if there's a chance that _some _good could come out of all this…"

"It's a tough call," I said sympathetically. "For what it's worth, you didn't do any of this to Grayson. Cerberus—and the Reapers—did. If this research can help stop the Reapers before they do this to the rest of the galaxy, it's worth a shot."

"I agree," Anderson nodded gravely. "About everything you said. Besides, I'll own up to the consequences afterwards. Once this is all over." **(13)**

"Speaking of consequences," I said, "is that why you're no longer on the Council?"

"Essentially, yes," Anderson said. "The Cerberus raids were conducted under the guise of a joint military exercise. That provided some justification for _turian_ squads to attack targets in _Alliance_ territory."

Yeah. You _do _need to be a little creative to get around intergalactic politics.

"Unfortunately, there was no way to justify attacking the two Cerberus bases in the Terminus Systems."

Ouch. Representatives from Citadel races striking targets in the Terminus Systems. There were laws against that sort of thing. This minor, unimportant thing called the Citadel Conventions. "That must've gone well," I said dryly. "I gather that caused a political kerfuffle?"

"More like a political storm," Anderson admitted. "I resigned my post as Councilor, shortly before travelling to the Cerberus base with Kahlee."

"How are you doing now?" I asked.

Anderson let out another sigh. "It's for the best. Really. I was getting so frustrated at my 'work,' if you could call it that. Everything was so slow, couched in delicate phrases and euphemisms, implied instead of stated. Nothing was clear-cut, nothing could be relied upon. It just went round in round in circles, rebounding between concerns about offending special interest groups or planetary constituencies. Those trade negotiations I mentioned? Total waste of time. Apparently, no one understood the concept of compromise. "Human, elcor, volus, turian… everybody just wanted to talk. And demand and counter-demand and so on. No one wanted to listen. Really made me long for the good old days in the Alliance. So… if this thing with Kahlee hadn't happened, something else would've been the final straw. It's good to be back in the Alliance. Even if it means becoming an Admiral."

Yeah, now Anderson just had to make sure he didn't become another REMF. **(14)** "That explains why you're back in Alliance blues. What can I do?"

"Grayson's intel included more than the location of Cerberus bases," Anderson revealed. "We're still sifting through it, but there is one thing that you might be able to help out with right now."

"What is it?"

"We came across an e-mail referring to an exchange between Cerberus operatives."

"Where?"

"A casino on Illium called the Grand Mirage."

Never heard of it. Which didn't mean a lot, considering the fact that I spent my time gambling with my life instead of my credits. "Do we know anything about the operatives?"

"The sender of the e-mail is apparently going to hand something off. We don't know who he or she is. We don't know what this handoff is. It could be a piece of technology, some credits or even a data file for all we know."

"What about the recipients of the e-mail?" I tried. "Any luck there."

"You could say that," Anderson said, his eyes narrowing. "Two operatives were supposed to meet the sender—Ben Pillar and Katie O'Connell. They were killed two days ago in a skycar 'accident' outside Vancouver International Starport on Earth."

Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes. "That's convenient."

"Not really."

"Sir?"

"Let's just say the official cause of death was 'engine failure,'" Anderson said, his voice suddenly becoming grim. "Unofficially, I think they got a bad case of Triple-D."

Ah. Now it all became clear.

I should explain that.

Anderson was referring to Eli David, Deputy Director of Systems Alliance Intelligence. Technically, he 'assisted' Director Langston Graham, occasionally taking over when Graham was absent or incapacitated. In truth, Deputy Director David was probably the scariest guy in the Alliance by far. 'Triple-D,' as he was not-so-affectionately known, kept his thumb firmly on the pulse of the Alliance's intelligence and counter-intelligence activities. Oversaw for most, if not all, of their top-secret projects—official, unofficial and theoretical. Managed just about every covert operation conducted by the Alliance. He was infamous for cajoling, manipulating, coercing and flat-out blackmailing people into doing whatever he wanted—a situation known as getting 'a case of Triple-D.' Sometimes, that condition was debilitating. Oftentimes, it was downright fatal.

I'd met him once upon a time. Back when he was a field agent. He was a sneaky SOB back then, and he'd only gotten sneakier since moving up in the ranks. Oh yeah, and he was the dad of an old friend of mine. One who hadn't seen or talked to her father for several years. For good reason, if you ask me.

I leaned back and ran through everything that Anderson had just told me. "So let me get this straight: an ex-Cerberus operative got captured by Cerberus, experimented upon and was eventually taken down—but not before transmitting a bunch of intel, including a few scant details on some upcoming meet. Triple-D—"

"Deputy Director David," Anderson corrected me mildly. "We should at least play lip-surface with the customary proprieties, Shepard."

"_Triple-D _got wind of it and decided to pitch in," I continued, undeterred.

"That is typical of Triple-D's playbook," Anderson agreed.

"At least his 'help' didn't take out a couple dozen innocent bystanders," I said, suppressing a grin. "Anyway, I'm guessing you want me and one of my squadmates to take Pillar's and O'Connell's place."

I felt a nudge underneath the table. Reaching down, I felt a pair of OSDs being pressed into my hand. "Passports, starport tickets and room reservations," Anderson murmured. "Courtesy of Alliance Intelligence."

"Triple-D's handing things over to us?"** (15)**

Anderson shrugged. "Someone under his direction passed all that to me, which I've now passed to you."

He didn't sound all that confused. Neither was I. Triple-D—and Alliance Intelligence—only had to play a small, minor role. I was the one stuck with spinning straw into gold. **(16)** If I succeeded, Alliance Intelligence got credit for their role in a joint operation that contributed to galactic security. If I screwed things up, they could throw up their hands and innocently proclaim that they were only responsible for their part and nothing else.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" I pressed.

"I'm afraid not."

Aw, crap. "You realize that we'll be operating blind."

"I know," Anderson apologized. "Believe me, I know. If there was more information, I'd tell you."

Actually, he already did. All that background—stretching all the way back to his first meeting with Kahlee and his sabotaged attempt to become a Spectre—wasn't completely necessary. He could have given a lot less information without breaking the need-to-know classification. The fact that he said as much as he did meant a lot.

"It's okay," I assured him. "I'll think of something."

"I know," Anderson smiled. "You always do."

* * *

"There's just one thing I wanna know."

Miranda and I had returned to the Normandy. I contacted Joker en route and told him to recall everybody who might've gone for some shore leave. The squad assembled in the comm room, while I gave them a briefing. The full briefing, same as the one Anderson had just given me.

"Yes, Jack?" I asked mildly.

"Why are you and the fucking princess going undercover?" Jack wanted to know. **(17)**

"Because Shepard and I know how to conduct ourselves during a covert operation," Miranda replied coldly.

"Unless you and Zaeed wanna try your luck," I added.

There were a lot of groans and winces after that.

"Jack and Zaeed," Mordin said reflectively. "Possible. Would need anti-nausea medication. Bleach. Memory-altering drugs. Best to ensure supplies topped up before departure. Pity we're at the Citadel. Exorbitant prices. Though not as bad as Illium."

Now there were a couple glares added to the mix.

"Seriously," I said, intervening before those glares became lethal, "Anyone replacing Pillar and O'Donnell would have to be human."

"Which eliminates Garrus, Grunt, Legion, Mordin, Samara, Tali and Thane," Miranda added.

"They would need some familiarity with operating out in the field," I continued.

"Which eliminates all the other human crew members who normally handle ship operations. That leaves Shepard, Jack, Jacob, Kasumi, myself, and Zaeed," Miranda said.

"Out of that short list, Miranda and I have had the most experience in assuming aliases and running undercover ops," I said. "We know how to blend in, what to look out for, how to act." At least, I knew I did. I wasn't sure what Miranda did with Cerberus, but it was a safe bet that she could handle herself.

I pulled up the data from the OSDs Anderson gave me and displayed them on the table's holo-projector. "The travel itinerary for Ben Pillar and Katie O'Donnell specifies a brief stop at the Citadel before taking a passenger ship to Illium, where a skycar will take them to the Grand Mirage. The meet is set for three days after they check in at the Grand Mirage.

"That brings me to the next point. Since the Normandy's much faster than any civilian transport—"

"_Hell, it's the fastest damn ship in the Alliance fleet!" _Joker butted in. _"I'd bet it could beat any ship in Citadel space! Or the Terminus Systems!" _

"Then there's no reason why the Normandy can't beat us to Illium," I said smoothly.

"Regrettably, the crew will have to stay onboard," Miranda added. "We can't risk Cerberus finding out that their meeting has been compromised simply because they spotted a member of the Normandy out on R&R."

"The exception will be the squad," I added. "Partly because you guys have a better chance of spotting and evading any Cerberus surveillance. Mostly because we need you to do some ground work."

"We _definitely _need as much time as possible," Kasumi agreed. "There's a lot we don't know right now. We don't know who we're meeting or what the package is. We don't even know where exactly we're meeting in the Grand Mirage. If we can pin down other details—like the layout, security routines and vid-cam locations—then we stand a better chance of pulling this off."

"Exactly," I nodded. "Miranda and I will be depending on you guys to fill in some of the gaps. Which reminds me…"

"Uh oh," Garrus and Jacob said in unison.

"Yep," I grinned. "Miranda and I won't be able to give any orders while we're travelling to Illium first class."

"Business class," Miranda corrected me.

I looked at her. "Seriously? I thought we were going first class."

"Last minute change to their itinerary."

This was just getting better and better. "Fine. Miranda and I won't be able to give any orders while we're travelling to Illium _business _class. And it'll be really hard to keep track of the overall picture and give the appropriate orders when we're at the Grand Mirage—"

"—since we'll have to focus on maintaining our cover—" Miranda explained.

"—which means someone else will have to be in charge. That means you, Garrus!"

"I was afraid of that," Garrus groaned.

"_Yeah," _Joker chimed in. _"We already had one ship-wide calibration. Don't think the crew can handle any more." _

Garrus glared at the speakers. Then he brightened up. "Wait. Once we touch down on Illium, you'll need someone to lead the intelligence gathering on the ground."

"True," I conceded. "In which case Jacob's next."

"_All right, maggots! Shirts off! Drop and give me twenty!" _

Now it was Jacob's turn to glare.

"Unless Garrus needs an assistant squad leader," Miranda said casually. "That means command would fall to…"

"Joker," we finished in unison.

…

…

"_Me?" _Joker managed at last.

* * *

The rest of the briefing was spent dealing with squadmates who were suddenly very, very eager to come up with reasons to get off the Normandy upon arrival at Illium. And an uncharacteristically silent Joker. I'm not sure which was weirder.

Once I dismissed everybody, Miranda handed me a datapad. "What's this?" I asked.

"List of clothes you'll need for your cover."

"What's wrong with what I've got?" I wanted to know.

She shot me an incredulous look. "You're not serious?"

"Well…" I closed my mouth. "I guess not."

"Good."

I activated the datapad and took a look at—"Miranda!" I exclaimed. "Have you seen the prices for some of these things?"

"A one-star hotel or casino on Illium is a three-star or higher on any other planet," Miranda said. "The Grand Mirage is a four-star. You have to look the part."

"What's wrong with what I've got?"

"Some of the clothes we have on the Normandy would be appropriate if you need to play the part of someone down on his luck," Miranda conceded. "Which, depending on which areas of Illium you visit, would account for 58 to 84% of the population. The tuxedo Kasumi acquired for you is perfect for the Grand Mirage. But you can't go around wearing it all the time."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not rolling in credits."

"I know," Miranda smiled. "Being a Spectre doesn't come with an enviable or impressive paycheck. But don't worry: I've done the math. You'll just have to rob a few more safes during each mission. Or pick up a few more datapads. At your usual rate, you should be able to acquire enough credits to make up the difference."

"Are you trying to be funny?" I demanded.

"Well, if you're really hard on your luck, you can always try the cargo crates."

Great. She was trying to be funny. I guess it's true what they say: you really should be careful what you wish for.

Without any other choice, I left the Normandy, returned to the Citadel and started shopping. At least I knew what to look for: Miranda had carefully outlined where to get each item of clothing and how much it would cost. I kept my eye out for similar items at other shops. It didn't take long to find out that Miranda had already determined what shops had the best deals. All it took was a quick in-and-out at each stop.

Oddly enough, virtually all the shops offered free delivery service. Every time I bought some clothes, the store clerks assured me that they would be delivered to the Normandy so I wouldn't have to be bothered with lugging them around. They all had extranet shopping functions as well. Which meant someone could order all these clothes online and ship them directly to his or her ship. Surely Miranda would have known that. So why have me run around like this? Unless she wanted to get me off the ship to set up some surprise.

I'm not sure if I liked that. Over the years, most of the surprises I've encountered have been of the thoroughly unpleasant and unwelcome variety. Heck, most of the surprises that I sprang on other people were equally unpleasant and unwelcome. Though I'd like to think that some of my pranks weren't _that _serious. If you could take a joke, of course.

It was with that in mind that I returned to the Normandy, fed my fish and began my usual rounds. I visited Deck Two, checked in on everybody, exchanged the usual chit-chat—well, except for Joker. He'd started talking again, but he was still a long way from the usual smart-ass banter. I decided to give him a little more time. Being the boss is a scary thing, after all.

Then I went to Deck Three. Usual rounds, usual amount of chatting. Nothing too surprising. Thane was taking another stroll down memory lane—courtesy of his eidetic memory—and needed a reminder that that wasn't healthy. Kasumi was... also taking another trip down memory lane—courtesy of her greybox—and also needed a reminder that that wasn't healthy. Hmm. Unexpected peas in a pod, those two.

I was still pondering that when I walked into Miranda's office and...

...

...well...

...

...uh...

...

...she was tucking the smallest pistol I'd ever seen into her black leather boots, ones that had at least a two-inch heel and went up almost to her knee. Fishnet stockings clung to her amazing legs which, regrettably, were mostly covered by the boots and her dress. Her fire-engine red dress, that clung to every curve of her body and matched the colour of her lipstick. And she'd...

...

…she'd changed her hair colour to blonde.

Miranda noticed that she'd captured my attention, as evidenced by my imitation of the fish in my quarters. She shot me a dazzling smile and a salacious wink.

There was really only one thing I could say:

"Heyyo!"

* * *

_(1): An acronym for 'The Powers That Be,' Shepard's less-than-complimentary nickname for the Council and their tendency to make pronouncements or statements that partly or completely disregarded Shepard's observations or reports. _

_(2): The complete phrase is 'Been there, done that, got the T-shirt'. It suggests that the event that has just been described was not very interesting or significant. Obviously this is not true, considering how traumatic this experience is, not to mention Shepard's penchant for self-deprecation._

(3): This statement would typically be made by an Alliance ship's VI whenever the commanding officer left the vessel, thus confirming who would be in command during his or her absence. The last sentence was a running joke referring to Garrus's dedication to maintaining the Normandy's weapons, something that highlights EDI's growing independence and developing sense of humour.

_(4): A complaint that was often uttered amongst Spectres was that they did not enjoy a pay scale commiserate to either the high degree of publicity associated with their position or the extreme level of secrecy and danger that typically accompanied their assignments. _

_(5): More likely that she was starting to grow beyond defining herself by her genetics and her father's ideal legacy. While she might 'relapse' from time to time, it was certainly an encouraging development._

_(6): A human marketing term for a period of time, typically in the late afternoon before dinner, during which an establishment will offer discounts on alcoholic beverages. It may have originated as a phrase employed by the United States Navy during the early twentieth century, but entered into civilian use by 1960. _

_(7): While Anderson might have returned to the Systems Alliance, Shepard had not. Furthermore, Shepard's Spectre authority had been reinstated. Both of those reasons meant that, technically, he was no longer required to recognize Anderson as a superior officer._

_(8): A human acronym for Electronic Counter-Measure._

_(9): When I asked Anderson, he explained that Shepard added a startling amount of sugar to his coffee. The only reason he didn't add a similar quantity of cream was that the cup wasn't large enough._

_(10): Shepard's suspicions were correct, as usual._

_(11): I feel the need to emphasize that this was sarcasm, for the benefit of the more literal-minded or overly critical readers. _

_(12): Shepard regularly made this distinction, both to himself and to others._

_(13): Statements such as this demonstrate why Anderson was such a powerful and positive mentor in Shepard's life, despite the fact that they spent very little time together._

_(14): A derisive human acronym used in military circles for "Rear Echelon Mother-Fucker." It refers to an individual with no frontline or combat experience—or someone who did have such experiences in the past but subsequently forgot the lessons learned from them—who subsequently makes poor decisions or huge errors at the expense of soldiers' lives._

_(15): This less-than-affectionate nickname was commonly used amongst those who knew of Eli David and his methods. _

_(16): A reference to the human fairy tale 'Rumplestiltskin.' Shepard means that he is being given a task that normally would be considered impossible, an understandable analogy given how little information he had to work with._

_(17): Jack used to call Miranda the 'Cheerleader' for her role as senior Cerberus officer and staunch defender of that organization. Once Miranda left Cerberus, that nickname no longer held any relevance, so Jack switched to another nickname, one that referred to her perfectionism. _


	2. Moving into Position

**Chapter 2: Moving into Position**

I don't see why getting to sit in business class is a big deal.

Yeah, you get to board the liner first. Sure, you get more leg room. Fine, the seats might have a bit more cushioning and you can get them to recline. Whoop-de-do: you get a complimentary glass of wine with your meal, a selection of premium e-magazines and dedicated washrooms. And that's on top of the extranet access and charge station for your electronics that's standard for all passengers.

Was that it? Or was there something I was missing? I turned to ask Miranda.

"Status, mostly," she told me. "Better food and drink, of course. Washrooms with a higher-end range of products, dedicated to a smaller number of passengers. It costs more, of course. But it may be worth it for the perks."

"I don't get it," I confessed. "Probably because I'm used to military transports. No padding. Cramped unless you're in the cargo bay. Loud and noisy as hell. Wanting to save those few extra credits for R&R."

"I'm used to first class or higher myself," Miranda admitted. "Nothing but the best for a Lawson. Though my travel with Cerberus and on the Normandy's Kodiak shuttle did expose me to... other levels of service."

"But you never liked it?"

Miranda shook her head. "It's more accurate to say I'm used to having certain resources at my disposal. First class seating is more likely to have some of those resources. Besides, after everything I've done and all the work I've put in, I like to think I earned it."

"There are a lot of people who more than earned it, but will never get above economy class," I pointed out. "Not to mention all the people who enjoy the luxuries of first class without doing a single thing to deserve it."

"I'll give you that," Miranda conceded. "But I'm not one of those people."

"True."

"Neither are you."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Come on."

She got to her feet. "Where are we going?" I asked, following suit.

"One of the perks of business class: you get access to the lounge," Miranda reminded me. "I'd rather continue our discussion there. More room. More private."

"Right."

The lounge was nicer than what I was used to. **(1)** Which means it had more than one colour (white walls, tables, counters and chairs that contrasted with the deep red carpets), actual cushioning (instead of the usual rock-hard military standards) and a fully-stocked bar (with decent beverages that were actually out in the open instead of hidden from nosy superiors or inspection officers). There weren't many people in the lounge, so Miranda and I had our choice of seats. We grabbed a corner table near the end so we could keep an eye on the rest of the room without anyone sneaking up on us. Old habits die hard, I guess. I ordered a cheeseburger alongside my water; Miranda ordered orange juice, chocolate milk and a whole wheat pita stuffed with chicken, cheese, lettuce, tomato and avocado. **(2)**

"All right," I said when the waiter left with our order. "What did Liara dig up?"

I should explain.

While I was out shopping, Miranda contacted Liara for any intel she could provide—while signing off on maintenance reports, changing her hair colour and putting on that jaw-dropping outfit. She changed back into something a little less conspicuous afterwards, mostly so her attire wouldn't bring the daily routine on the Normandy to a screeching halt. **(3)** Liara sent a reply just before we left.

"The Grand Mirage was built twenty-two years ago by a consortium of human and asari companies. It consists of three towers: two of which are two hundred metres tall, have 50 floors and 4044 rooms each; the other tower is one hundred forty-nine metres tall, with 36 floors and 3000 rooms. While relatively new by Illium standards, it's already become well-known for its numerous attractions, including a high-energy plasma fountain that creates hourly displays choreographed to music."

"Where is our room?" I asked before Miranda could give me the full tourist spiel.

"Tower Two, Floor 38, Room 3816. Outer room with direct line-of-sight to the starports at Nos Astra and one of the warehouse districts."

"And Liara managed to rent out one of those warehouses for our use?"

"Better," Miranda smiled. "She's secured an entire block of warehouses for our use, courtesy of the Shadow Broker. Plenty of room, weapons and surveillance equipment for the squad. One of the warehouses even comes with three skycars."

"I'm assuming the risk of discovery will be low, considering we got an entire block of warehouses?" I inquired.

"Try minimal. That particular warehouse district is primarily used for long-term storage by the locals. Tourists wouldn't be interested, as there are no historical, architectural, or culinary reasons to venture in."

"How about the local criminal or merc elements? Like Eclipse? A district like that sounds perfect for their needs."

"You would think so," Miranda conceded, her now-blonde hair moving ever-so-slightly as she nodded. "However, there are other warehouse districts with similar benefits. Districts that are also larger and placed in better locations. So we should be able to make our plans without any interference."

"Good," I nodded. As far as we knew, this was nothing more than a meet. Go to a specified location at a specified time, pick a package up and leave. Seems easy enough: except we still knew way too little about this meet. Who were we meeting? What was this package? Why was Cerberus so keen to get their hands on it?

We didn't have answers to any of those questions. So we needed a quiet spot to coordinate our efforts to _get _some answers. Not to mention conduct general surveillance, monitor local comm chatter, keep an eye out for any sudden flurry of activity that could be the only warning we'd get before the mission went south. It sounded like this base of Liara's met our requirements.

The waiter returned with our order at that point. We paused, let him put down our meal and leave. After a couple bites, we resumed our conversation.

"You know," I frowned. "If something goes wrong, we'll be on our own."

"Garrus will have people standing by on overwatch during the meet," Miranda reminded me, absently flicking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. **(4)**

"True," I said. "Unless he gets distracted calibrating his sniper rifle."

Miranda's lip twitched. "I'm sure he can exercise some restraint."

"I'm just wondering how much backup we'll need on site, at the Grand Mirage itself," I pointed out. "If something goes wrong during the meet, we could be on our own until Garrus scrambles some backup. Hell, things could go downhill at any point during the three days before the meet?"

"We discussed this before, remember?" Miranda said. "Garrus will have done a tactical assessment by the time we arrive. The most efficient routes to get to the Grand Mirage, whether it's necessary to station squad members on site, how to sneak them in, and so on. I'm sure he'll also put some thought into establishing secure communications. We can't assume that our usual encryption will be enough. Not without doing some analysis of the local comm chatter. We'll also have to make sure that our communications go unnoticed."

Yes. It was important to make sure that no one tapped into our comm channels. It was just as important to ensure that no one suspected there were secret communications to begin with.

"We can talk about it in greater detail once we touch down on Illium," I said, feeling a little calmer now that I'd actually voiced my concerns. I never realized before how stressful it was to keep these concerns from showing on your face and freaking out the people who depend on you. It was nice to know someone else had thought about the potential problems and had made the same tentative plans to deal with them. "We're still making the detour, right?"

"Yes: after we land at Port Hanshan and take the skycar to the Grand Mirage, we'll settle in, then go out at the earliest opportunity. We'll rendezvous at the warehouse, get the sitrep from Garrus and plan our next move," Miranda confirmed. **(6)**

"Okay."

"Now can you please stop staring?"

"Huh?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "I would have thought that a man of your experience in special operations wouldn't be so distracted by something so simple as a change in hair colour."

Oh. Right. That. Was I really that obvious? "Well… uh… um…"

"Yes?"

"Uh… I mean… you pull it off really well. Being blonde, I mean. The hair colour, not the stereotype. Not that I want you to change it permanently, because I like your natural hair colour. Unless you want to keep it blonde, of course…"

Oh geez. I knew the universe was in its natural state of equilibrium, because it was having way too much fun at my expense to put me out of my misery.

Miranda finally took pity on me, leaning forward and interrupting my babble with a peck on the cheek. "Thank you. That was the sweetest and most incoherent thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Buh."

The waiter came back to see how we were enjoying our meal. We assured him that it was fine—which was true, for civvie starship fare—and finished lunch. "Is there anything we missed?" Miranda wondered out loud.

"Well, there is one thing," I said slowly.

"What?"

"We're alone."

"Aside from all the other passengers and the flight crew."

"And we're on a passenger liner."

"Brillant. Do go on."

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"We just started a mission, we've just established how much we don't know and _that's _all you can think of?"

"Well…"

"There are other things to take into consideration."

"I know—"

"Like the location of all the security cams. We need to find their blind spots."

"—I just thought that—wait, what?"

"And the number of staff. Their routines, their rotations."

A grin slowly spread over my face. "As it happens, I've already started."

Miranda's grin matched my own. "So have I."

* * *

The rest of the trip went by quickly. Can't imagine why.

As expected, a fleet of dedicated skycars were waiting when we disembarked. We were directed to one of them, where a helpful chauffeur loaded our luggage. He flew us through the throngs of traffic and between the rows of buildings and skyscrapers—all lit up in neon against the backdrop of a stunning sunset. After a short while, we arrived at the Grand Mirage. I hope I gave him a sufficient tip.

The interior décor looked impressive, if the entrance hall was any indication. Warm yellow pastels and gold silk curtains complimenting gold-tinted metal furnishings—a sharp, modern and stunning contrast to the dark wood of the tables and paneling, as well as the black marble tile floor. Glass and crystal chandeliers, hovering in place thanks to their miniature element zero core. And the giant mirrors, carefully placed to show everything off in the best possible light.

Miranda and I were careful to play the part as we joined the line leading to the check-in counter. We commented on the latest news broadcasts, fretted about the weather and how long it would last, oohed and aahed about all the bright lights and tall buildings. Anything that made us look and sound like tourists. It's what Pillar and O'Connell would probably have done to blend in. **(7)**

At last, it was our turn. "Ben Pillar," I introduced myself to the front desk clerk.

"Katie O'Connell," Miranda added. "We have a reservation."

"Of course. One moment, please." The clerk took our passes and scanned it into the computer. She carefully peered at the screen before entering a few commands. Miranda was busy looking around the room. So neither of them noticed the slip, however brief, in my composure. It didn't have anything to do with her hair colour this time. This time, it was her accent. She'd dropped her usual Aussie accent, complete with all the rolls and other quirks of pronunciation, in favour of a distinctly North American accent. Possibly from one of the Northwestern megalopolises. Wherever it was, it definitely wasn't Australian, but it sounded completely authentic. Yet another hidden talent of Miranda's, one that she had naturally honed and perfected.

Thankfully, I'd processed that by the time the clerk looked up and passed over a pair of keycards, designed and formatted for loading into omni-tools or other electronic devices. Standard issue for most hotels and resorts striving for customer convenience and satisfaction.

I spotted a motion out of the corner of my eye. Turning around, I saw a bellhop approach us. Obviously he had been summoned by the clerk. "This man will take you and your luggage to your room," she said. "Welcome to the Grand Mirage."

"Thank you."

A couple minutes later and we were walking into our new home away from home. Miranda walked around and checked things out while I watched the bellhop manhandle our luggage in—he insisted on doing it himself. I tipped him for his trouble. From the look on his face, I might not have paid him enough. Note to self: look up appropriate tips on Illium.

"So what do you think?" I asked once the bellhop left—after receiving another twenty creds.

"Not bad, I suppose," Miranda shrugged, turning off her omni-tool. Judging by the beam of light that suddenly vanished, I figured she must've been sweeping the room for bugs. **(8)**

"'Not bad'," I echoed. "Really?"

Clearly, Miranda and I had different standards. I was not used to big comfy chairs and sofas, all draped in leather. Probably the real thing, not that cloned or synthesized stuff. I wasn't used to more black marble tiling, which quickly gave way to a thick, deep black carpet—and by deep, I meant that you didn't step on it so much as you _sank_ into it. All the way to your ankles. Must be a pain to clean. I walked by the large glass table, which apparently came with several haptic computer interfaces around the edge and a holo-projector in the centre. There were lots of drawers and closets, all made of expensive mahogany wood. A solid and expensive looking safe. More computer consoles—and a complimentary basket of fruit—were stationed next to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows and a retractable door leading to an outdoor patio.

Now I might have seen some of this luxury before, during all the cheering, parading and other PR crap I had to endure after Elysium. But that was years ago. And none of my prior experiences had seen this much luxury concentrated in one room. A room that was _mine_ for the duration of this mission. Well, mine and Miranda's.

"Ooh!" I burst out, noticing something else. I opened the dark wood cabinet and… "Wow," I whistled. "Will you look at this vid-screen? Comes with 360-degree surround-sound and, let's see, 6000 channels? Local, system _and_ galactic?"

As much as I wanted to start channel-surfing, I did want to check out the rest of the suite. The bed was huge, bigger than my bed—and that's saying something considering how much Cerberus put into furnishing the Normandy. Around the corner was a mini-bar, fully stocked with enough alcohol to incapacitate a normal human. For someone with a genetically enhanced constitution—like Miranda or even myself—it wouldn't knock him or her out, but it would certainly be a good headstart. The minibar was next to the kitchenette, all wrapped in dark granite and wood cabinets, and complete with microwave, coffee machine and a fully stocked fridge.

And the washroom was big. Like, _really _big. Maybe half the size of my quarters. Not as much marble this time, but a lot more granite. Granite floor. Granite countertops—yeah, there were more than one sink. Granite tiling in the wall surrounding the Jacuzzi. Crystal light fixtures scattered everywhere. All designed to look warm and inviting as well as modern and expensive.

"Hey, Miranda! You gotta check this Jacuzzi… out…"

I trailed off as Miranda approached me. Slowly. Inexorably. Like a cat stalking her prey. And I just stood there, all slack-jawed and mesmerized.

Miranda slowly dragged me over to the bed, a smoldering look in her eyes.

"I'm guessing you don't want to check out the Jacuzzi?" I said at last, my throat suddenly drying up.

"There's only one thing I want to check out right now," Miranda replied as her dress fell to the floor.

* * *

"There you are," Garrus said, noticing our arrival. "Right on schedule."

Little did he know that Miranda and I had actually left a little late. It was only a handy skycar rental, courtesy of the hospitality of the Grand Mirage, and Miranda's research into local traffic patterns that helped us make up for lost time. Not that I minded. Improvising and scrambling due to nonlethal and entirely pleasurable reasons was a nice change of pace. Especially when you could justify it as being essential to maintaining your cover.

I had to say: so far, I was _really _enjoying this mission.

"Nice to see you too, Garrus," I said, looking around. Now _this _was more like it. Not that I minded the luxurious accommodations of the Grand Mirage suite, but the warehouse was definitely closer to the kind of bases I frequented during my spec-op days. Plain concrete walls covered with chipped paint or no paint at all. Tiny panel windows set at regular intervals. Bare support columns and metal girders. Several tables scattered around, several of which were covered by weapons and datapads. On the far side, I saw a bank of skycars parked.

A closer look picked up a couple more details. The walls seemed a bit thicker than usual, if the doors were any indication. The overall support structure was a lot more extensive than most buildings. And the light streaming through the windows seemed a bit dimmer than usual, but the windows weren't polarized—probably because the glass itself was thicker, possibly reinforced. All of which suggested that this warehouse had been hardened to withstand attacks, which stood to reason considering who owned it.

The rest of the squad came over before I could do any more analysis. We exchanged a brief round of greetings, not to mention a lot of comments and compliments—and catty insults from certain squadmates. "Okay," I said after a couple minutes. "Let's get down to business. You guys got here long before we did. Was there any trouble getting clearance to land the Normandy?"

"Actually, we snuck into Illium using the shuttle," Garrus said.

That wasn't part of the plan. "How?" I asked.

"The Normandy dropped us off just outside the Tasale System," Kasumi explained. "Then we waited until we found a suitable freighter inbound for Illium, snuck underneath its belly and followed it in."

Using the freighter's mass and electromagnetic output to mask the shuttle from any sensors. "Little trick you picked up?" I asked dryly.

"You could say that," Kasumi shrugged. "Keiji did it all the time."

Ah. Right. **(9)**

"Liara gave us some advance notice of a pirate raid," Garrus continued. "The Normandy had plenty of time to get over there and ambush the pirates. Now she could have sent us to thwart any old band of pirates, but this band just happened to be in the Olokun system, the same system where a certain reporter was doing a news series on intergalactic travel. Does the name Emily Wong ring a bell?"

Sure did. When I first met her, she was an up-and-coming reporter doing various investigation pieces. I helped her on a story about organized crime on the Citadel and persuaded her to drop another one on traffic controllers. **(10)** Since then, she'd moved up the ranks and became a newscaster for Future Content Corporation. Which reminded me: she sent an e-mail requesting an exclusive interview. I'd yet to reply to that.

"If that's the case, I'm sure Ms. Wong will prominently mention the Normandy's heroic rescue," Miranda said, seeing where this was going. "Which means Cerberus will have less reason to suspect we're here to thwart this meeting."

"Works for me," I grinned. "By the way, where's the shuttle now?"

"Parked in the next warehouse," Jacob said, gesturing over his shoulder. "There's a sewer tunnel connecting the two, so we can get to it in a hurry if we need to make a quick getaway."

"Good," I approved. "Tell me you haven't been wasting time checking out the sights."

"We have not wasted any time observing local points of interest, Shepard-Commander."

"That's a good start," I replied with a straight face.

"How are we on communications?" Miranda asked.

"I had some time to look through the warehouse manifests," Tali replied, "and managed to cobble together a makeshift comm relay. We'll be able to encrypt our communications and talk freely without boosting our suit or handheld comms."

In other words, we wouldn't have to jack up our comm signals so high that Cerberus could pick us out with their eyes closed. "Good," I nodded.

"Tali's being modest," Garrus said. "What she built was the equivalent of any comm relay you'd find in a turian platoon."

"Really?"

Tali shuffled awkwardly, as if she wasn't used to the praise. "The Shadow Broker kept these places very well stocked," she said modestly.

"Not that well stocked," Miranda disagreed. She had picked up a datapad at some point and was skimming through some contents. "From what I see here, you would have had to do some highly skilled and very creative engineering to build a military-grade comm relay from these components."

"Well, um, I guess," Tali managed. Apparently the idea of receiving that much high praise from Miranda was unusual. Actually, come to think of it, it was rather unusual.

"We have been able to infiltrate the Grand Mirage's systems, Shepard-Commander," Legion reported. I guess it was understandable that they could take such peculiar developments in stride. "At present, we have acquired full access to 95.8% of all computers, surveillance cameras, keycard locks and other security systems."

"'95.8%'," I repeated. "What happened to the other 4.2%?"

"There seems to be a few rooms that are operating on a different system," Garrus said.

"Independent?" Miranda asked.

"I don't think so," Kasumi shook her head. "From what I've been able to determine, it's more like a sub-network operating within the Grand Mirage's main network. Tali and Legion did some checking of their own and they agree."

The two of them were nodding in unison. Kinda creepy, come to think of it.

"We're in the process of inserting a few more bodies into the Grand Mirage," Kasumi continued, "both for backup and to do some further investigation."

Oh good. Miranda and I wouldn't be going solo after all. "Who're the lucky guys?" I asked.

Kasumi pretended to activate her omni-tool. "Daddy?" she asked in a high-pitched voice. "It's me, Hoshi. Why do I have to go to the Grand Mirage? It's _so _last year. None of my friends are there. They're all on the other side of Illium, remember? Why do I have to go to the Grand Mirage? Why do you keep booking reservations there? I've already checked in and out there, like, three times."

She paused. _"Three times," _she repeated loudly.

"Four times, Miss Sakai," Grunt growled, albeit reluctantly.

"Four times," Kasumi sighed, sticking her lower lip in petulant defiance, the kind you normally see amongst celubtantes and rich spoiled brats these days. "And why do I have to have a stupid bodyguard? Bob's so boring—"

"Bokk," Grunt interrupted.

"—and he smells!" Kasumi continued.

"Kasumi is going in as a young human woman of some unnamed business empire," Garrus explained. "Lots of money, little sense. As you may have guessed from her story, she's checked in and out four times already. Grunt will pose as her bodyguard."

"Because, like, krogan bodyguards are totally in and totally hot!" Kasumi added, continuing that high-pitched tone. Grunt just let out another growl.

"Her long-suffering bodyguard," Garrus amended. "They'll check in tomorrow. We already have a reservation for Tower Two, Floor 49, in one of the penthouse suites."

"Which is eight times the square area of our room," Miranda said for my benefit.

Somehow, that didn't shock me as much as I thought it would. Could I be getting used to all this excessive luxury? Hope not. It would be quite a shock to return to the real world after this mission.

"Mordin will also check in two days from now," Garrus added.

"Bandam Siks, professional gambler," Mordin introduced himself, speaking much slower than normal—which was still pretty fast by normal standards. "I'm getting in a bit of practice before the Skyllian Five Poker Tournament next month."

Which explained his effort to slow his speech—and the fact that he was sporting two normal-sized cranial horns. That was one convincing prosthetic.

I was also happy to see that our backup was staggering their check in times so it didn't look like we'd all arrived at the same time. Though that did bring up one point: "Where did we get the credits to pay for you guys?"

"Funny you should mention that," Garrus said. "We've pooled our funds and, well, we're a bit short. But we have an idea on how to fix that."

Uh oh. I had a feeling that one of my credit accounts was about to get a lot lighter. **(11) **

* * *

For once, I was wrong. My accounts were safe. Go figure.

"How exactly did you find out about these guys?" I asked Garrus.

"We'd just landed on Illium and decided to walk around the area," Garrus replied. "Familiarize ourselves with the streets, the shops and so on. Then we saw this salarian all alone, talking to himself about how he didn't know what to do. Taking a page from your book, I stopped and asked if there was anything I could do to help. Turns out he'd been drinking at a bar and overheard two guys talking about a job."

"A job of the illegal variety, I take it."

"Smuggling people onto Illium, to be exact," Garrus confirmed. "We did some investigating, found the smugglers in question and followed them to this warehouse." **(12)**

"And this salarian didn't alert the local authorities because…"

"The guys were boasting that it was an easy job because they'd bought off one of the cops."

That would explain why Garrus was grinding his mandibles. And clenching his fists. And… "Uh… Garrus?"

"Yes, Shepard?"

"Please move your finger—talon—whatever away from the trigger before you shoot someone."

Tali poked her head in. "Shepard has a point, Garrus. Remember the reward? The one by the local police precinct? For a certain band of smugglers that just happens to include the two guys that the salarian was talking about? I'm pretty sure that reward was for bringing them in alive."

"You're sure?"

"Quite sure."

"But you might have been mistaken."

"No, I was not mistaken."

"Are you sure? Because it would be a shame to spare their lives when—"

"I have a shotgun."

Garrus turned to me. "She's sure. I'm sure. We're sure."

"Okay," I said straight-faced. "We'll wait for Kasumi to get back from her recon, disable their defences and do our best to take them in alive."

"Right."

"Sure."

Then there was an awkward silence. One that lasted right up until I leaned over to Miranda. "So you think that those two—"

"—there is a certain compatibility."

"And not just biochemically or genetically."

"No, it's not just that. They do complement each other."

"They do, don't they? Never noticed that until now."

"What are they talking about?" Garrus asked.

Tali just looked at him, then shook her head.

Kasumi came back at that point. Now she was the one grinding her, well, teeth. "Problem?" I asked innocently.

"Twelve smugglers—ten Eclipse, plus the other two. Plus the dirty cop. Mix of asari, salarians and humans."

"Good to know," I said.

"We've dealt with Eclipse before," Miranda recalled.

"And the odds were usually much worse," I added.

"But we never ran across Eclipse mercs smuggling _kids_," Kasumi bit out.

"Kids?"

"Yes. They were laughing about how easy it would be to snatch them up and… and sell…" Kasumi broke off, too angry to speak.

There was another silence. More tense than awkward.

"Sure you want to bring them in alive?" Garrus asked at last.

"Yeah," I said at last. "But we can still shoot them. Just a little."

"You're all heart."

"Kasumi, do they actually have any children with them?" Miranda asked. Only the eerily calm tone of her voice told us just how pissed off she was right now. Not that I could blame her.

"No."

Well, at least there was one upside to this development.

Kasumi gave us a breakdown of the bad guys and their location. More importantly, she gave us directions to the catwalks that would take us directly over the bad guys. We quickly formed a plan, split into teams and moved into position. "Team Two?" I queried over the comm.

"_In position," _Garrus replied.

"We move on three…" I said. "Two… one… GO!"

Samara and Thane hit an asari with their biotics, smashing right through her barriers. One of the human Eclipse mercs looked at her, then quickly reinforced his barriers. They were strong enough to withstand one concussive round. Unfortunately for him, Grunt, Zaeed and Garrus fired three. Meanwhile, Miranda, Kasumi and Tali deployed three EMPs, zapping eleven sets of shields—people have a bad habit of clustering together when they don't think they're gonna get ambushed.

Now that everyone had their defences stripped, it was time to make things interesting. Jack and Jacob used their biotics to yank six or seven separate mercs—plus the cop—into the air. Legion deployed a combat drone to distract the smugglers. Mordin set one of the Eclipse mercs on fire, sending him screaming into his salarian buddy.

That left one scowling asari. I pulled out my sniper rifle… just as an idea popped into my noggin. One quick eyeblink activated my HUD. A few nervous twitches boosted my helmet speakers to max. "Attention Eclipse mercs, naughty smugglers and the dirty cop!"

The asari's head snapped up. She glared. I was shaking in my boots.

"You have no shields," I told them. "Or barriers. **(13)** You have no numerical superiority and no high ground. Give up."

The asari gave me the finger with one hand. Her other hand started to glow, tell-tale sign of biotic activity. Before she could do anything, I activated my cloak, dialed back on the velocity of my sniper rifle, zeroed in… and… fired.

The bullet went right between the asari's eyes, slowing down just enough that all that kinetic energy blew outward. Her head exploded like a ripe melon, showering brain goop and skull fragments and blue blood all over her buddies. They all froze. No doubt they realized just how serious I was. Not to mention how hard it would be to clean their hardsuits.

"Anyone else want to object?" I asked brightly.

* * *

For once, everything went according to plan. Plan A, that is—the one where the bad guys actually survived. Kasumi placed an anonymous call, mostly for the novelty of alerting the local authorities about a crime in progress. We were long gone by the time they showed up.

"Garrus?" I asked.

"Yes, Shepard."

"What happened to the cop?"

"What do you mean?"

"You did separate him from the others," I reminded him.

Garrus had this grim smile on his face. "He may have picked up a couple broken ribs. And kneecaps. And ankles. And a fractured skull. Not to mention the possibility of a punctured lung."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That's it?"

"He may have slipped and fell out of the window. Multiple times. Sheer coincidence, I'm sure."

I'm sure.

Miranda came up to us, lips curved ever-so-slightly in satisfaction. "The bounty was just deposited into the account number Kasumi provided."

Okay then. One problem down.

With our financial woes resolved, Garrus gave Miranda and I some OSDs. "Scanning programs," he said. "Courtesy of Kasumi. You can use them to scan for bugs. They'll also help us assess and confirm any weaknesses in the security systems, in case we have to retrieve this package from our Cerberus contact's quarters. Kasumi, Grunt and Mordin already have them."

"So what'll the rest of you be doing?" I asked.

Jack rolled her eyes. "Cooling our heels and getting fucking bored," she declared.

"Tali and Legion will be staying here to handle electronic surveillance and monitor comm chatter," Garrus said. "I'll stay as well to coordinate activities. Everyone else will be on standby, just in case you need a rapid reaction force."

No wonder Jack wasn't happy. Being forced to stay put must be driving her bonkers. Zaeed didn't look all that thrilled either. Jacob, Samara and Thane seemed to be taking it in stride. Good thing I'd considered that before Miranda and I ran out the door.

"Here," I dug into a pocket and tossed something onto the table.

Thane reached over and picked it up. "A deck of cards?"

"Something to pass the time," I shrugged.

"I brought a few books," Jacob said, tapping a datapad, "but I can always read them later."

"Strip poker!" Zaeed declared.

"No fair!" Tali protested. "I can't do that without getting sick! Or worse!"

As they bickered, Garrus and Kasumi saw us to the warehouse door. "By the way," Garrus said, "we dug up another interesting fact."

"One that you two might be interested in," Kasumi added.

They were way too casual about the whole thing. "Yes?" Miranda and I asked warily. And in unison.

"It seems that Pillar and O'Connell are usually paired together on missions," Garrus told us. "And they spend a lot of time in each other's company afterwards as well. From what we've been able to gather, they've been… involved for a while."

Oh.

"So I guess you two will have to act the part," Kasumi said, eyes dancing merrily.

Yep, all part of maintaining our cover.

* * *

As much fun as it was to be with the squad again, it was almost a relief to get back into the rental skycar with Miranda and lift off. Garrus and Kasumi were having way too much fun teasing us. Mordin too, once he found out what was going on. If we'd stayed another minute or two, who knows what might have happened? Clearly, it was time to go.

I took a circuitous route back to the Grand Mirage. We weren't in any hurry, and it was good tradescraft to prevent any nosy bodies from tracing the warehouse where my squad was holed up to the hotel where Miranda and I were staying. Or vice versa.

By sheer coincidence, my random wanderings took us over several places that we had visited before. We passed over Liara's old apartment—which was bigger than my hotel room at the Grand Mirage. I'd never fully appreciated how good the view was until now. **(14)** The first time I was there, I was trying to meet Liara and plan our next move to find the Shadow Broker and rescue Feron. How quickly things had changed…

We also went by Dantius Towers. The place where I'd gone to recruit Thane. The place where Nassana Dantius—a backstabbing asari who eliminated anyone who threatened her status or outlived their usefulness without a second thought—met her well-deserved demise. Both towers were now complete. I wondered what how the Dantius Corporation was faring now that the boss was dead. **(15)**

Another place we skimmed over was Nos Astra Starport. I glimpsed Miranda tense up imperceptibly at one point. A quick glance provided the answer—we had just passed by a cargo terminal. Specifically, the one we had fought our way through in order to rescue Miranda's sister. All those Eclipse mercs trying to ferry Oriana offworld and return her to her biological father. Niket, the one friend and link from Miranda's past, who turned out to have sold out for a paycheque and repented way too late. But it wasn't all bad. "Hey, wasn't that the terminal where you wound up meeting your sister for the first time?" I asked.

"Yes, it was," Miranda said, smiling at last. "Thanks to your encouragement."

"Eh, you already wanted to," I said modestly. "I just offered a push or two."

Miranda's smile just widened. Then it dropped. "Shepard! Look out!"

I jinked to starboard, just before running into a skytruck. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Please watch where you're going," Miranda groaned.

Eventually, we got back to the Grand Mirage. I found a parking spot and touched down without any trouble. Miranda found that surprising for some reason. As we got out, I noticed a batarian getting into a skycar of his own. He looked familiar for some reason. I thought about it, wondering where I…

…uh oh. I remembered now.

"Ben?"

Miranda had picked up on my sudden tension. Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to maintain her cover. "Just eager to check out the Jacuzzi, Katie," I said. "Come on. You gotta show me that new bikini of yours."

We quickly made a beeline for the nearest entrance. Hopefully that batarian didn't recogni—

"Hey!"

Keep moving. Maybe that batarian was talking to—"

"I recognize you! Stop right there!"

…

Aw, crap.

* * *

_(__1): I sometimes wonder if Shepard would still have the same decency and strength of character if he had grown up surrounded by such luxuries._

_(2): It takes an incredible physical effort required to manipulate dark energy. As a result, biotics such as Miranda have to consume up to 50% more calories per day than non-biotics, along with energy drinks or some other means of maintaining blood sugar and electrolyte levels. _

_(3): I suspect that she also wanted to save it for Shepard and Shepard alone._

_(4): A state where a person, unit or vehicle finds a position to observe both the terrain ahead and likely avenues of approach_ _for enemy movement and provide covering fire if necessary. Ideally, this position will have sufficient cover as well as provide unobstructed lines of sight._

(5): An acronym for 'as soon as possible.'

_(6): Short for 'situation_ _report', which summarizes the present state of affairs._

_(7): The fact that they didn't need to discuss or review that on the flight proved that both of them had ample experience with this sort of thing._

_(8): A colloquial term for a covert listening device, employed for the purposes of surveillance, police investigations or intelligence gathering. _

_(9): No doubt Kasumi accessed Keiji's memories through her greybox. _

_(10): When Shepard was trying to find Tali, and the evidence she carried that proved Saren had gone rogue, he uncovered an OSD containing the files of a crime lord and Shadow Broker agent named Fist. He gave that OSD to Ms. Wong. A few months later, he ran across her again. Ms. Wong sought his help in planting a bug in Citadel Traffic Control to find proof that the traffic controllers were dangerously overworked. He convinced her that any evidence uncovered in this manner would be more likely to cost the controllers their jobs. _

_(11): Shepard had an unspecified number of unofficial and covert accounts, which he used to store any excess funds gathered from his unorthodox habit of scavenging, looting and blatant stealing. While several of those accounts were seized and shut down between 2183 and 2185—due to his status of being Killed In Action (KIA)—there were a number of off-books accounts that survived._

_(12): This was a different warehouse district than the one Shepard's squad were set up in._

_(13): Technically, they are the same thing. However, the kinetic barriers—colloquially referred to as 'shields'—generated by hardsuits do tend to be more susceptible to electromagnetic disruption than those generated by biotic manipulation of dark energy. _

_(14): One of my decisions for selecting that apartment was the view. A strange choice of criteria in hindsight, as I was often too focused on my work to actually appreciate it. _

_(15): Since the death of Nassana Dantius at the hands of Thane Krios, a furious internal struggle commenced to establish a successor. _


	3. Degrees of Separation

**Chapter 3: Degrees of Separation**

One of the greatest dangers of going undercover is getting caught by someone who recognizes you—either by a previous alias or, even worse, your real identity. As big as the galaxy is, the percentage of galactic space that's actually inhabited is very small, thanks to the tendency of sapients to cluster around mass relays. When you've travelled around as much as I have, you tend to meet a lot of people. That's a lot of opportunities for one of them to bump into you again sometime down the line. And if you've made an impression during your last encounter, they'll actually remember your cheerfully deranged face.

It was with all that in mind that I turned around to face my accuser. "Do I know you?" I asked innocently.

The batarian scowled at me. "Don't act like you don't know me!" he snapped.

"But I don't," I lied. "Sorry. It might be a little racist to say that all batarians look alike, but it's true. All I know is you aren't the batarian who fixed my skycar. Or the barista at that really good coffee shop. Or the one who searched me at customs."

"Cathka."

"Gesundheit." **(1)**

He paused. "That's my name."

"Pleased to meet you," I said brightly, acting as if I was oblivious to the potential trouble standing in front of me. Which, depending on who you ask, would explain a lot.

"I'm a member of the Blue Suns," he continued.

"I've met a lot of batarians who said they were part of the Blue Suns," I replied. "Some of them might have actually been telling the truth. Can you believe that some people would rather _lie_?" I made a tsk-tsk noise. "Shocking, I know, but it's true. And—FYI—you're not wearing a Blue Suns uniform." **(2)**

Which was true: he was wearing this garish gold and red hardsuit that was sporting a big, honking Grand Mirage logo on it. He looked down at his hardsuit, visibly winced, then looked up at me. "We met on Omega," he told me, trying to jog my supposedly faulty memory.

"Omega's a big place," I said. "You might wanna be a little more specific."

Only batarians can roll two of their eyes while glaring at you with the other two. "Fine," he growled. "We met on one of the lower levels in Omega, where we were trying to take down a self-styled vigilante going by the codename 'Archangel.' I was a sergeant in the Blue Suns pulling double-duty as a mechanic because that goddamned hero downed a gunship with his sniper rifle. I was _this _close to fixing it before you stuck an arc welder in my back. Is that specific enough for you?"

"Ooooohhhhhh," I said in a voice of dawning comprehension. "_That _Cathka. I remember now. How's it been? You're looking good."

Somehow, I don't think he bought it. Call it a hunch. **(3)** "Yeah, guess I am," he said dryly. "Kinda surprising—you almost electrocuted me to death."

"Well. Yes," I grudgingly conceded. "There's that. But," I added with a raised finger, "I didn't kill you. I spared your life."

"Do you want a medal?" Cathka asked sarcastically.

"Do I get one?" I asked eagerly. "It has to be a big one. A shinyone. Ooh, ooh: how 'bout a big _and _shiny one? Do I get a big and shiny one? Well, do I?"

Cathka turned to Miranda. "Is he always like this?" he demanded.

She looked at him, looked at me, looked back at him… and sighed. I had the feeling that she was trying to take my behavior in stride and felt the need to summon a great deal of patience. "Not always," Miranda admitted. "He's gotten more… eccentric over time, however."

"Is that what they're calling it now?" he asked rhetorically.

"Hey!" I protested. "I'm standing right here!"

"Yes you are," Cathka acknowledged. "And who are you, anyway?"

"Ben Pillar," I replied, remembering my alias.

He activated his omni-tool and did a quick check. "Ben Pillar and… Katie O'Connell, I guess," he said, glancing at Miranda. "I take it you're not here for pleasure." That was more of a statement than a question.

"Well…" I exchanged a look with 'Katie.' A hot, steamy look, smouldering with promises of sinful pleasures and carnal delights. I paused, just long enough to make Cathka think I'd lost my train of thought. Truth be told, I almost did lose my train of thought after images of Miranda's—focus, Shepard, focus! "There's… some pleasure," I managed at last.

Cathka made a gagging sound. "I'm sure there is. Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

Like I was really gonna open my big mouth and tell the whole story. Did he really think I was that stupid? Just because some guy ID'd me didn't mean I was gonna give up. I looked him in the eye and began to reply. Something cutting and witty. Maybe more cutting and witty than the big shiny medal shtick.

But then I saw a gleam. In his eyes. All four of them. I recognized that gleam. I'd seen it in the mirror once in a while. He was curious. Oh, he was still undoubtedly pissed off at the way I'd gotten the upper hand on him all those months ago. But he was also curious about why I was here. Genuinely, sincerely, honestly curious.

We might have something in common after all. Who knew?

"I'll make you a deal," I heard myself say. "I'll tell you why I'm here if you tell me why you're here."

"Seems fair," Cathka allowed.

"And if you don't tell anyone else," Miranda added. "Including your superiors at the Grand Mirage. Consider that your way of paying Pillar back for sparing your life back on Omega."

Cathka paused for a long time. "Fine," he finally nodded. "Let's talk. And eat—I'm starving."

Cheers for a growling stomach.

* * *

Cathka took us to a small restaurant that was very easy to miss, considering it was sandwiched between two other businesses that were much, much larger. On one side was a high-end clothing store with who-knows-how-many stories and floor-to-ceiling windows, all of which were displaying dresses, blouses and other clothing. All from designers I'd never heard of and for prices I couldn't imagine. I'm sure Miranda could, but I couldn't. Even at the height of that Hero of Elysium crap, dress blues were just fine, thank you very much. One the other side was a tanning salon. Floor-to-ceiling windows, lots of leather seats and there were these pods in the back. I'm sure they were tanning booths or something, but they looked like pods to me, which inevitably reminded me of those stasis pods that the Collectors used to store abductees before melting them into goop to grow new Reapers and I quickly forced myself to think of something else before I collapsed on the pavement and started spewing out gibberish while assuming the fetal position. **(4) **

Anyway, back to the restaurant. Plain black metallic façade with a plain black metallic door. No gimungous windows. If it wasn't for the neon sign above the door, telling us that it was open for business in between flickers, we might've walked right by it. The doors hissed open and a waft…

…a waft of…

…

…oh my.

It… it smelled like… _pizza_. Damn, when was the last time I had pizza? Not while I was running around chasing Collectors. Or when Miranda was putting me back together. **(5)** Or when I was chasing Saren's tail. So that would be… over three years ago? Over four? Wow.

The pizzeria wasn't too crowded—probably because we'd come in at the tail end of the evening rush. There were more faux-wood tables, covered in red-and-white checker square cloth, than customers. A pair of asari, going on and on about how _exotic _this strange human food was. Over on the left, a salarian was inhaling his four slices and chugging down an energy drink. I gave him a wide berth, in case he exploded in a frenzy of flailing caffeinated activity or just plain exploded. A female turian—at least, I _think _she was female. Never saw a female turian before. Note to self: ask Garrus what female turians look like.—and an asari were on a date, and starting to get a little, well, frisky.

"That can't be right."

I looked at Miranda blankly, then followed her gaze to the advertisement hanging on the wall. "'Only two credits per slice!'" I read aloud. "'Make it a combo: two slices plus one beer equals five credits. Prices already include taxes!' Yeah, that can't be right."

"Actually, it is right," Cathka confirmed. "One of my buddies stumbled on this joint a couple weeks ago. He couldn't believe it at first either. Neither could I. I mean, this is Illium, right? How could the prices be this cheap?"

"Obviously the pizza isn't very good," Miranda suggested with a derisive sniff.

"Seems fine to me," Cathka shrugged. "But I never had pizza growing up in the Hegemony. Or when I left home and started travelling around the galaxy. My human buddies said it was good, for what that's worth."

I hoped he was right. If not, then the cost of medical care to treat food poisoning on Illium would probably bankrupt me. **(6)** Which might have been Cathka's plan from the get-go. Unfortunately, it was a risk I'd have to take. My curiosity demanded it—and the mission, of course. Besides, the pizza smelled _really _good.

Cathka got one 'meat lover's slice—full of beef, sausage, ham and other unidentifiable meats—and one Hawaiian slice. Miranda wasn't that hungry. Neither was I, despite the tantalizing aromas. If things went south and I had to fight, I didn't want to fight on a full stomach—those slices were _really _big. So I got a slice of the house special for myself and a vegetarian slice for Miranda.

We found a secluded table along the right wall. Cathka insisted on taking the best seat—the one that would let him put his back against the wall and keep an eye on the rest of the room. Again, not an ideal situation from a tactical perspective, but one I'd have to live with.

As I sat down, I surreptitiously pulled up my HUD and re-assessed my arsenal, something that I was sure Miranda was also doing. All weapons were loaded with fresh thermal clips. Omni-tool had a fresh dose of plasma to ruin someone's day. Shields were at 100 percent. And my cloak was standing by to mask my presence for… six… freaking… seconds. **(7)** Cathka and I stared at each other. Miranda started picking the olives off her pizza.

"So… 'Pillar.' 'O'Connell.'" Cathka said those names slowly, sounding them out. Almost as if he didn't believe we had told him our actual names, which was fair under the circumstances. "What are you doing here?"

"Staring at a slice of pizza instead of eating it," I replied with a straight face.

Cathka glared at me.

"Oh, you mean _before _that," I said. "We're here on behalf of a client who wants us to pick up a package."

"What's the package," Cathka immediately asked.

"No idea," I replied honestly.

"'No idea?' None at all?"

"None whatsoever," Miranda confirmed, putting an edge of authentic irritation in her voice. "I'm hardly thrilled about that, by the way."

"She's been bitching about it ever since we got hired," I stage-whispered.

"Have not," Miranda retorted.

"Have too."

"Have not."

"Have too."

"Oh shut up, you two," Cathka groaned. "I get enough of that when I'm on duty."

"That reminds me," I said, seeing an opening to redirect the conversation and satisfy my curiosity, "what're you doing here on Illium?"

"And how did you wind up joining the staff of the Grand Mirage?" Miranda added.

"Lately, the Blue Suns have been suffering from a credit flow problem," Cathka began. "We used to have a solid base of operations on Omega, but _somebody_ had to go in and fuck it all up."

That wasn't entirely fair, I thought. I wasn't responsible for the Collector plague that swept through one of the many slums of Omega. That outbreak did a real number on the Blue Suns. More than I ever did. **(8)**

Having said that, my hands weren't completely clean. I did shoot, pummel and barbeque a lot of Blue Suns. But it was all in the name of recruiting and rescuing an asset going by the codename Archangel. Renowned for his tactical and strategic skills, infamous for being a crack shot with a sniper rifle and guilty of driving the criminal element of Omega to despair. It just so happened that Archangel was my old pal Garrus, the first friendly and familiar face I'd seen being hauled back to the land of the living—aside from Joker and Dr. Chakwas, of course. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Let Garrus get killed? For the sake of a bunch of pirates, racketeers, smugglers and killers—plus the throngs of wannabe thugs with more bravado than self-preservation? Yeah, I don't think so.

"If it was just Omega, we might've been fine. But we lost a lot of other operations too. Our prison starship—Purgatory—fell apart. That was a sweet cash cow, let me tell you. Then we lost a lot of guys on Korlus, not to mention the chance to get our own personal supply of krogan shock troops. Personally, I think the bitch in charge might've been partially responsible for that clusterfuck. Our racketeering ring on the Citadel got busted. We even lost one of our bases on Zorya. _Zorya_. We _own_ that fucking planet and we _still_ got hit there."

"That sucks," I pretended to sympathize.

Cathka seemed to believe me this time. Either that, or he was too caught up in his story to notice. "After that, we really needed to rebuild. So a bunch of us were sent to random planets to nose around and look for new opportunities. I was sent here along with a dozen guys."

"Wait, wait, wait," I interrupted. "You went with twelve other Blue Suns to _Illium_? Unless things've changed in the last month or two, that's prime Eclipse territory. If you guys own Zorya, then Eclipse owns Illium. Did anyone bother to mention that?"

"Yeah," Cathka snorted. "I did. But the bosses were too desperate for credits to care. And most of other guys were too busy thinking with their dicks and drooling over all that blue pussy."

"Charming," Miranda said pointedly.

"Aw, did I hurt your feelings?" Cathka mocked.

"_Anyway_," I butted in, before things had a chance to escalate, "you and a dozen Blue Suns came here."

"Yeah," Cathka nodded. "We thought we could set up an exporting business for some of the pharmaceuticals that Eclipse didn't care about. Pass off some no-name drug or cheap knockoff as the latest fad from Illium. Had a warehouse right outside Nos Astra to cook our merchandise, a couple freighters to move our cargo. Even bought off the local cops."

"Sounds like you had all the basics covered," I nodded. "So what happened?"

"We were busy packaging our first shipment," Cathka told us. "All hands on deck. Trying to stay on schedule. Then someone tripped our alarms. All of them. At once. Next thing we knew, we were under attack. Lost four guys in the first minute alone. When the smoke cleared, we'd lost another two guys and were completely surrounded."

"By who?" Miranda asked.

"At first we thought they were a local merc group," Cathka sighed. "Some other outfit that had the same idea we did and didn't want us poaching on their turf. We later found out that they worked for the Grand Mirage."

Miranda and I looked at each other in surprise. "Are you telling me—" I started.

"—that a casino that's been in business for thirty-two years—" Miranda continued.

"—managed to overcome a squad of Blue Suns mercs?" I finished.

"Embarrassing, isn't it?" Cathka groaned. "But yeah, that's how it went down. They told us to surrender, which we did. No choice, really. Going down fighting only works in vids, right? Then they gave us a choice: work for them or they'd hand us over to Eclipse."

"Ooh," I winced.

"Yeah," Cathka nodded morosely. "That was… damn. Almost four months ago. Four months of getting every crap detail and assignment. Four months of being laughed at and spat on. Four months of freezing every time someone opens a comm channel, wondering if that'll be the call that rats us out to Eclipse. Four. Fucking. Months."

It occurred to me that this might be the first time I ever felt sorry for a merc.

"Four months of staying away from the strip bars, 'cuz you never know if Bambi or Candi is one of them Eclipse bitches. Four months of being afraid to even talk to one of the whores for the same reason. Four months of jerking off to old porn e-magazines because you can't risk downloading the new ones—Eclipse watches them, you know. **(9)** No, I'm serious!" Cathka insisted, seeing the doubt on our faces. "One of the guys was trying to download the latest issue and left the break room to find a place with a stronger signal. When he didn't return for his shift, I started looking for him. Took a while, but I found him. Was trying to figure out how to break the news when I returned to the Grand Mirage and bumped into you guys."

"What happened?" I asked.

"He was on the roof of some building a couple blocks over," Cathka replied. "Eclipse logo spray-painted on his hardsuit, pants down around his ankles and head blown away… as well as his, um, you know."

I winced. No need to pretend this time. I grabbed my beer and took a swig. Cathka did the same. Miranda, being made of sterner stuff, asked the next question: "I'm guessing your… contract with the Grand Mirage makes it difficult to leave?"

"Minimum wage, overpriced accommodations at the Grand Mirage—which also lets them keep tabs on us—overpriced food just about everywhere on this goddamned planet aside from this joint and a 'protection fee' to ensure they keep their mouths shut." Cathka shook his head. "Yeah, we won't be buying a ticket outta here anytime soon."

Then a thought hit me. Scary, I know. "Maybe there's something we can do about that."

Cathka looked at me. So did Miranda, though her expression was more alarmed than hopeful. "Excuse us," she hastily said before grabbing my arm, hauling me to my feet and dragging me out the back door.

We found ourselves in an alley. A sliver of sunshine made its way down to us from the sky overhead, adding to the dim illumination provided by the light panels hanging above the back doors of the various businesses. Aside from the shadows and the garbage bins, we were alone. I waggled my eyebrows. "Why Miranda, this is so sudden!"

"Have you finally lost your mind?" Miranda hissed.

"Good question," I shrugged. "Wanna flip a credit chit and find out? Heads I've got a plan, tails I've gone loony."

"Shepard!"

"We need backup to cover as many avenues as possible," I reminded her. "To give us as many options as possible. Kasumi, Grunt and Mordin are a good start, but they've got the same problem we do: they're customers. Guests. Patrons. There are some things they're expected to do, some places they're not supposed to go.

"What we need are people placed on the other side. People who can mingle with the employees without raising suspicion. People who can go into restricted areas without anyone batting an eye."

"The Grand Mirage went to the trouble to recruit Cathka and the surviving Blue Suns into their security staff, which suggests that they need more hired guns—or maybe they _think _they need more hired help. The fact that they chose blackmail and coercion to force their compliance could mean they're desperate. If so, we can use that. They want guns? We've got guns."

"You're making a lot of assumptions," Miranda pointed out. "That introduces several more unknown variables into our plan. More unknown variables means more things that can go unexpectedly and horribly wrong."

"No plan survives first contact with the enemy," I reminded her. "And our plan is still in the development stages. Right now, I think the potential benefits outweigh the risks. Besides, as far as Cathka knows, it's just the two of us. If he does rat us out, and I don't think he will, but if he does—we have the rest of the squad out there to bail us out."

Miranda thought about that, no doubt calculating all those variables and their impact on any number of scenarios. "Cathka would have key insights into the Grand Mirage's hiring practices and methods of operations," she eventually conceded.

"His loathing and anger towards his new bosses would be ample motivation to help us," I added.

"Not to mention the hope of freedom that you evidently plan to offer to him and his men."

"So we're in agreement?"

"We are."

"Good," I nodded. I looked up and down the alley. We were alone. I turned towards Miranda and waggled my eyebrows again.

Miranda looked at me in disgust. "Here? Seriously? It's so… dirty."

"That's part of the charm," I grinned.

Miranda's response was immediate. "No!"

"But—"

"No, no, no, no and no! How you could even—no!"

…

…

"Fine. Maybe later. If you're good."

"Woohoo!"

Having settled that, we re-entered the pizzeria, found Cathka and sat back down. "Let's talk," Miranda said.

"After we eat," I corrected. "Pizza's getting cold.** (10)**

* * *

Cathka confirmed that the Grand Mirage did have an urgent need for extra security for the upcoming Skyllian Five Poker Tournament—the one Mordin's alias was entering. In fact, they were so desperate, they'd instituted an accelerated hiring and training process.

Having said that, it didn't take long to decide that sneaking in squadmates as Blue Sun mercs would be a really bad idea. Cathka reiterated that he and his pals endured more scrutiny than the other security staff and only had access to certain areas—namely the locker rooms and lunchrooms. It would inevitably raise questions like why it took the Blue Suns so long to investigate what happened to their Illium team—something that Cathka and his buddies had been asking themselves for a couple months now—as well as why they only sent a couple men to investigate. And, most importantly, I couldn't possibly make my squadmates suffer the shame of donning Blue Sun hardsuits. They're totally unflattering. I mean, have you seen the pics on the extranet? Those hardsuits add a couple extra pounds at least. **(11)**

I should mention that we hadn't actually eaten the pizza that we'd bought. So once we'd ironed out as many details as we possibly could, we ate our significantly cooled-down pizza. At which point, various sounds of appreciation may have been heard. Poorly chosen words may have also been spoken. **(12)**

After that, we said our goodbyes, shook hands and went our separate ways. Miranda took the scenic route back to the Grand Mirage. Making a bee-line straight back is just not done. Unless you're a rookie—which we were not. Or unless we were desperate—again, not. Those reasons were also why we didn't call Garrus and the others to update them on the latest developments. There were just too many eyes and ears out there.

So we waited until we got back to our room. And closed the door. And locked the door. And swept the room for bugs. While yapping on and on about all the buildings we saw and how big they were and all the shiny lights they had and it looked so cool and high-tech and sophisticated. Just like the asari. No wonder they discovered the Citadel first and became the first member of the Citadel Council and wasn't it all just _amazing_?

Once we'd secured the room, Miranda opened the curtains. Not all the way, mind you. Just far enough that someone from a certain angle could see into the closet—which was conveniently left open—and see which dress was on the right hand side. Specifically, which colour the dress was.

Sometimes, there are advantages to humoring the female tendency to bring far too many clothes with you. **(13)**

Then it was time for us to discuss what had been on our minds ever since we'd made a deal with Cathka. "So who should become the newest addition to the Grand Mirage family?"

"Kasumi, Grunt and Mordin are taken," Miranda began. "Unless we want to reassign Mordin."

"No," I decided after a moment's thought. "They went to the trouble of creating a legend for him. Let's not ruin that."

"Legion's out, obviously," Miranda said. "So's Tali. We need them to handle any hacking or technical situations that might arise. And they would raise far too much suspicion."

"Though it would be interesting to see who would raise _more _suspicion," I pointed out.

"Shepard, not everything is about satisfying your curiosity."

"Since when?"

"Can we move on?"

"Must we?"

"Yes."

"Slave driver."

"I've been called worse."

"Yes, I'm sure you have."

"I can't picture Jack assuming such a role with any degree of credibility," Miranda continued, having given up waiting for me to be serious. "A freelancer or biotic-for-hire, perhaps. But a rent-a-cop? I'm afraid not."

"Samara wouldn't be the best choice either," I said, finally getting back to business. "I… think she's wound up a little too tightly."

"That would be one way of putting it," Miranda agreed, echoing my uncharacteristic tact. "There might be a possibility with Thane."

"He has the serious, quiet demeanor of the ideal textbook guard," I admitted. "And he has the infiltration skills down pat. What about Jacob?"

"I don't know," Miranda frowned. "Undercover operations is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think about him. And I studied his record quite carefully when I was first recruiting him."

"Unless we play the ex-military angle," I suggested.

"Oh he could do that quite convincingly," Miranda nodded. "I'm not concerned about that. But—and I know you know this because you've read his record and talked to him extensively—he hasn't had nearly as much experience with being a hired gun. Or any aspect of special operations. If we're going to put him in this role, he'd need a handler."

"Like Garrus?"

"That would work in a pinch. Ideally, he'd be available to focus entirely on guiding Jacob, coaching him in what to say, how to act. Unfortunately, we need him to oversee the entire squad's activities. Therefore… we need to pair him with someone who can provide the seedier, more ruthless and ethically ambiguous quantities that Jacob lacks."

I raised an eyebrow. "You realize you've just described Zaeed."

"I have, haven't I?"

"So we've come to a decision?" Miranda asked.

"I think so," I nodded. "Jacob and Zaeed are going to be the latest additions to the Grand Mirage staff."

"Okay then."

"Right."

"Yeah."

"Good."

"You… realize that this presents a certain complication," Miranda stated more than asked.

"Something we haven't discussed yet?" I asked.

"Correct."

"What?" I wanted to know.

"Do you think Kasumi will be able to maintain her cover knowing that Jacob is working in the same building?"

I thought about that. "As long as he stays in his hardsuit and keeps his shirt on, I think she's got a shot."

* * *

With nothing else to do, I turned on the vid screen. I'd observed earlier that we had a ton of channels. As I began flipping through them, I realized that most of the shows on those channels were, well, crap. Gossip shows. Reality shows. Entertainment news. Reality shows. Bad movies. Shows clearly geared towards as broad, as mainstream and as shallow an audience as possible. More reality shows. Really bad movies. Shows in languages I didn't understand. Still more reality shows. It took almost ten minutes before I settled on some evening news show. Though the 2082 remake of 'Batman' was a close second.

Meanwhile, Miranda turned on the hotel computer, accessed the extranet and began looking at tourist attractions and popular restaurants. She started making notes on her omni-tool, jotting down details on everything from location to hours of operations to what they had to offer.

I should mention that this was just for the sake of maintaining our cover as a couple who was on vacation. For example, while I was pretending to watch stories on the multi-skycar accident on Lidanya Drive and some new e-book decrying the downsides of first contact, I was actually running passive scans to see if there were any bugs we missed—or bugs that had shut themselves off when they detected our earlier scans. Yes, there are some really sophisticated bugs out there. Amazing, isn't it? Mind you, our surveillance sweeps would probably have picked them up anyway, but you never know. Especially since we'd left our room unattended for several hours. No telling what shifty characters might've snuck in while we were out.

While my scans were running, I also took the opportunity to look around the databases and networks that Legion and Tali had cracked, just to see what trouble I could stir up. Turns out I could cause a lot of damage if I got really, really bored. **(14)**

Meanwhile, Miranda's research had two additional goals that the average tourist wouldn't think of. First, she was learning where everything was located to build a database—mental and digital—of excuses and covers. If some nosy parker started asking questions, she could say we were looking for something innocuous, like a museum or restaurant, instead of something mission-related, like local Eclipse patrol patterns or the closest power generator. Second, that database wouldn't be much use if we didn't have the facts to back it up. The more minutiae Miranda could uncover, the more convincing a performance she could put on.

And, of course, we were killing time until someone from the squad responded to the signal Miranda had hung up in the closet. We didn't know how long it would take until—"

"Hey, Shep! Hey, Miranda! How's it going?"

Miranda wheeled around as Kasumi decloaked. "What are you doing here?"

Kasumi gave her a look. "You signaled me? Remember?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "But we didn't think you'd get here so fast."

"We had it all planned out," Miranda groused. "We were going to pretend to be a normal couple on Illium for the first time, figuring out how to do normal things…"

"…we'd get overwhelmed by all the options, most of which would clean out our credit accounts…" I chimed in.

"…we'd need to distract ourselves for a time, come back with a fresh set of eyes…" Miranda continued.

"…maybe a nice massage..."

"…one thing would lead to another…"

"…especially since we'd already be partially undressed anyway—"

"Okay," Kasumi interrupted, her face showing equal parts delight and nausea. "TMI. I don't need to know what weird, kinky games you two had planned."

"Who needs handcuffs when you have biotics?" Miranda asked, giving her a wide smile.

"My safe word is 'apples'," I added in a stage whisper.

"_GUYS!" _**(15) **

I finally took pity on her. "We had a run-in with a familiar face. Do you remember Sergeant Cathka? We met him when we were recruiting Archangel? He was trying to fix a gunship—"

"—when you stabbed him in the back," Kasumi interrupted. "Bet he remembered _that_. What's he doing here?"

"He was sent with a squad of Blue Suns to explore business opportunities on Illium," Miranda told her. "Instead, they were ambushed by the Grand Mirage's staff—"

"Seriously?" Kasumi exclaimed.

"Seriously," Miranda confirmed. "The survivors were effectively forced into indentured servitude for the Grand Mirage, or risk being sold out to Eclipse."

"Makes sense," Kasumi admitted. "Eclipse wouldn't be too happy to hear that one of their biggest rivals was trying to muscle in on their turf. It's not just mercs, either. I know a lot of thieves who found themselves in that kind of crap too."

"Cathka said the same thing about Eclipse being territorial," I nodded. "Anyway, there's no love lost between the Blue Suns and the Grand Mirage staff. He gave us a lot of intel—including the fact that the Mirage has a lot of job postings for security staff."

"Tell Jacob and Zaeed to dust off their resumes," Miranda said. "They're going to go job hunting."

"Naturally, we'll need you guys to backstop them," I said. **(16)**

"Naturally."

I looked at her, then over at the door, then back at her again. "Since you managed to get in here so easily, I'm guessing that breaking into our mysterious contact's room won't be a problem? If it comes to that, of course."

"Assuming the security is anything like your room, or the room over, or the room three floors above, then no. No problem," Kasumi replied. "The luxury suites have a bit more security, but nothing I couldn't handle—I already broke into my suite and another one, just in case Mr. Illusive shelled out the credits for something a little more fancy."

"You… you broke into seven rooms? Already?"

"Well, yeah," Kasumi shrugged. "I've been in and out of here four times, remember? This makes five. I had to do something to pass the time."

"Couldn't you just gamble at the tables or watch a show like a normal person?" I asked.

Kasumi looked at me blankly. "Why would I want to do that?"

Right. Silly me. What _was _I thinking?

"Anyway," Miranda said, there are four likely scenarios for how our contact will be transporting the package. He or she might be carrying it on his or her person."

"In which case, either the contact will pass it over or we might have to frisk him or her," I said.

"Or it might hidden in his or her accommodations. Which could be either a regular hotel room or a suite."

"Either way, I can get us in," Kasumi smiled confidently. "From there, well, we'll just have to search the room and hope we recognize this secret package."

"That just leaves the last option," Miranda frowned, "where the contact deposited his or her package in the Grand Mirage vault itself prior to the meeting. If anything goes wrong, we'll have to break into the vault and retrieve it ourselves."

"That's half the fun," Kasumi agreed. Then her eyes lit up. "Wait… so Jacob's going to be one of the Grand Mirage staff?"

"Assuming he gets selected for an interview and passes, yes," Miranda nodded.

"And I'll be a guest at the Grand Mirage," Kasumi stated.

"Yep," I confirmed, seeing where this was going.

"So I get to boss him around, ask him to do things for me, and he has to do it," Kasumi grinned, positively bouncing on her feet. "While dressed in a uniform."

I… never really thought of it that way. Clearly Kasumi had, judging by the really odd… 'squee-ing' sound she was making.

Whatever made her happy, I guess. Poor Jacob. Maybe someone should give him a heads-up.

* * *

_(__1): A verbal response from the human language German, meaning 'good health.' Wishes for good health, long life, blessings or references to deities are often used amongst human cultures as a response to the act of sneezing. Sergeant Cathka wasn't sneezing, though. Shepard knew that. He was trying to be funny, I believe._

_(2): A human acronym for the phrase 'For Your Information,' used either as an attempt to denote classified information or to imply that one is imparting knowledge._

_(3): People often ask me if Shepard was really that clueless, considering how insightful and observant he could be. Having known him for countless years, I can safely say that this was a time when he knew that Cathka was on to him and was just being sarcastic. _

_(4): Considering everything Shepard had endured, from being bombarded with data from the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime to the revelation of the Reapers to dying in the vacuum of space to being brought back to life by Cerberus to the truth of the Collectors, it was a miracle that he'd maintained his mental health as well as he had. _

_(5): The fact that he gave all the credit to Miranda alone, when he knew that she couldn't have done it without Cerberus and its resources, speaks volumes. _

_(6): Shepard was exaggerating. I've seen his credit accounts. Most of them, anyway. _

_(7): While Shepard had quickly adapted to the exceedingly short window of opportunity provided by his tactical cloak, he was acutely aware of its severe limitations._

_(8): Based on Shepard's reports, his squad was responsible for killing a maximum of six Blue Suns, compared to the scores of Blue Suns that succumbed to the Collector plague._

_(9): I believe the human acronym 'TMI,' for 'Too Much Information' would apply in this case, though some readers may beg to differ. _

_(10): There are times when I have to question Shepard's sense of priorities. _

_(11): I wonder if Shepard knew that someone might eventually review and edit his personal logs for posterity and deliberately threw in comments like that to mess with them. _

_(12): According to Miranda, Shepard 'may have' suggested that consuming the pizza was a better experience than sex. She retaliated by 'cutting him off,' a punishment that only lasted for a short time because, in her words, he 'just looked so sad and pathetic.' _

_(13): Shepard clearly didn't know what he was talking about. _

_(14): Oh dear. _

_(15): TMI. Goddess help me, TMI. _

_(16): A term used in a variety of contexts and situations. In this case, Shepard is referring to the intelligence definition of backstopping, where one provides whatever verification and support is deemed appropriate—ranging from documentation to fictitious businesses and character references—for an alias used by an agent._


	4. The Value of Contingencies

**Chapter 4: The Value of Contingencies**

I told Kasumi that Miranda and I would meet the rest of the squad tomorrow morning. Garrus and the others could use the time to lay the groundwork for Jacob and Zaeed. Miranda and I could use the time to finally have sex on an actual bed. After a couple rounds on the carpet, of course. And the chair. **(1)**

After several hours of kissing, caressing, making out, groping, touchy-feely and assuming various pleasurable positions, Miranda and I finally got some sleep. When we woke up the next morning, it didn't take long to discover that kissing, caressing, making out, groping, touchy-feely and assuming various pleasurable positions was a very nice, albeit time-consuming, way to wake up.

After we thanked various deities for the room's soundproofing and, well, just thanked various deities in general, we decided to wash up together. Turns out that that was not an efficient way to make up for lost time. Though Miranda was quick to remind me that one encounter was an extremely small data set that would not hold up to any statistical analysis whatsoever, and that further repetitions would be necessary to draw any meaningful conclusions. She was very persuasive.

Eventually, we made it out of our room. With our clothes on. I'd say Miranda's makeup wasn't smeared, but she didn't need any. She never did. We tried to keep the bounce in our steps to a minimum. I think we failed there. Ditto regarding our efforts to reign in the smiles on our faces.

But I digress. **(2) **

We went down to the main floor and started weaving back and forth around the roulette tables surrounded by asari and humans and other sapients. Then we squeezed past the slot machines, each and every one occupied by an asari, batarian, human, salarian or turian—all of whom were convinced that they could win big on the next press of the button. There was even a hanar—apparently the 'Enkindlers' had no objection to gambling. Then we sidestepped past the krogan arguing with the trio of salarians and the poor saps—Blue Suns, of course—trying to calm things down before things got ugly. Then we walked past the poker tables that were filled with humans trying to sweet-talk asari or other humans into blowing on their dice—which wasn't a euphemism, by the way. **(3)** And then we passed a lot of other gambling games, some of which I actually recognized.

Then we had breakfast at one of the many restaurants open at the Grand Mirage. It was an all-you-can-eat buffet. On Illium, which meant it was obscenely expensive and overpriced. Since we were hotel guests, though, it was only moderately expensive and overpriced. The quality of the food was pretty good, I had to say.

Afterwards, we slowly made our way to the exit, making our way around various members of various races crowded around various games and tables that were rigged to empty the wallets and credit accounts of the naïve, the unknowing, the curious, the overly confident and the flat-out desperate. We had to step over and around the salarians and the Blue Suns who were lying on the ground—apparently the krogan they'd been dealing with decided to win the argument with his fists. From there, it only took a minute to get to the skycar lot and rent a skycar for the day. Then I proceeded to take Miranda on a very scenic and very random tour of Nos Astra, which ultimately ended up at the warehouses that Liara had kindly rented out for us.

"You're late," Kasumi smirked when we got out.

We ignored that.

"What happened? Did you guys get… _distracted_?"

We ignored that too.

"I'm surprised the two of you can still walk straight."

"Handcuffs," Miranda said sweetly.

"Apples," I added.

"Shutting up now," Kasumi chirped.

The three of us left the warehouse, took a left and entered the next warehouse, where the rest of the squad was waiting. "All right," I said after exchanging greetings. "Where are we on the job front?" **(4)**

"We created resumes for Zaeed and Jacob and sent them off," Garrus began. "Under aliases, of course."

"Makes sense," I approved. "We did go to a lot of trouble to keep Cerberus from catching wind of our presence here on Illium. Using their actual names would scuttle all that hard work."

"That's what we thought," Zaeed agreed. "My resume was easy. Just had to change the order of my group contracts and replace my solo stuff with something that sounded similar—well, except for the last year. Had to make something up from scratch. Couldn't put down 'instrumental in wiping out bugs-that-looked-like-Collectors with some-human-Spectre-that-ain't-Shepard,' right?"

"Agreed," Miranda nodded. "Jacob?"

"I pretended I was some guy who enlisted in the Alliance when he turned 18 and just left with an honourable discharge," Jacob shrugged. "That was the easy part. Writing the cover letters though… _man_. I haven't written one since… well, since I enlisted for real. Damn. Has it been that long?"

"But you finished and submitted everything?" Miranda asked.

"Late last night," Jacob reassured her. "And Cathka's right: the Grand Mirage really is interested in new hires."

"Try desperate," Zaeed chortled. "They already asked the two of us in for interviews."

"The interview requests were sent thirty-eight minutes after receipt of their applications, Shepard-Commander," Legion elaborated. "The interviews are scheduled for this afternoon, at 1300 hours."

"Good," Miranda approved. "Plenty of time to go through some mock interviews."

"Do we have t—good idea," Jacob agreed, quickly backpedalling from his initial complaint.

Zaeed shook his head. "Thought the two of you weren't an item," he growled. "Why the hell are you acting like you got a goddamn ball-and-chain?" **(5) **

"It's a good idea, Zaeed," Garrus put in. "Even if the Grand Mirage _is _desperate for more staff, they still need to pretend to go through the motions. That includes the interview. Which means you need to answer those questions. If nothing else, this would be a good chance to make sure the two of you have memorized your aliases."

"Then it's decided," Miranda nodded. "I've had ample experience with potential hires, so I'll interview you."

"I still remember my C-Sec interview," Garrus said. "I'm sure I can think of a couple security-related questions to ask."

"Count me in," Jack added.

"You have a lot of experience with interviews?" I asked.

"Hell, no," she snorted. "I just wanna mess with Princess Bubble-Butt."

Seeing where this was going, I quickly intervened before things got ugly. "Before we hold those mock interviews, there's something else we need to cover. Kasumi, here's everything Miranda and I collected." I began transferring the relevant files from my omni-tool to hers.

I should explain. **(6)**

All that wandering around we'd done earlier had less to do with my rampant curiosity and more to do with getting a firsthand look at our surroundings. The former would have involved butting my nose in other people's business, getting to know them in exhaustive detail, seeing if there were any problems that they couldn't solve on their own and increasing my to-do list exponentially. **(7)**

The latter involved recording every voice, beep and sound within range of the omni-tool's sensors and using a series of algorithms that calculated response times, Doppler shifts and other variables to construct a map of our surroundings. It wasn't as sophisticated or accurate as, say, a full-spectrum sensor scan. Or even a series of high-frequency sonic pulses. But it did have the advantage of being entirely passive, which meant it had a significantly lower chance of _not _setting off every alarm and countermeasure inside the Grand Mirage.

Granted, it was rather limited in range, which meant a single walkthrough wouldn't be enough. But if you did multiple walkthroughs—both as a loud human socialite with a long-suffering krogan bodyguard and as a master thief with a cloaking device—you could probably make do. Probably

While we were at it, we'd also taken the liberty of taking the occasional surreptitious vid-shot—also with our omni-tools. Kasumi had done the same, of course. Once the file transfer was complete, she began integrating what we'd recorded with her own data. It didn't take long. "Okay," Kasumi said. "Just as I thought."

"Huh?" Grunt asked. While monosyllabic, he managed to convey our ignorance of what Kasumi apparently knew and our eagerness to find out with an almost elegant simplicity.

Kasumi walked over to one of the tables in the warehouse and synced her omni-tool with its holo-unit. "The Grand Mirage is not what it appears to be," she began.

"It is more than a tower of sin and depravity that preys on the innocent, the foolish and the desperate?" Samara asked.

"Yes," Kasumi said without missing a beat. A keystroke pulled up a schematic of the Grand Mirage, hovering above the table surface. A grid of brilliant neon blue outlined every floor and room. "What you see here is a layout based on the extranet tourist sites and the plans filed with the Nos Astra authorities. Using the scans Shep, Miranda and I conducted, we get this."

Another keystroke filled the wireframe schematic with colour. "The green region represents the areas open to everyone. The yellow region represents the area restricted to staff only. Now, remember what I said about accessing the systems of the Grand Mirage?"

"There was a portion you couldn't gain access to," I recalled.

"A separate network isolated and secure," Miranda added, "compromising approximately 4.2% of the overall Mirage mainframe."

"Gold star!" Kasumi beamed.

I felt so proud.

"Thanks to Legion and Tali, we know where that 4.2% is," Kasumi continued. With a flourish, she added a new wrinkle to the schematic. Several rooms, in the staff-only area of one of the upper floors, shifted in colour from yellow to orange. A line extended downward from that orange zone, passing through floor after floor until it hit the basement…

…where it kept going. As we watched, the line cleared the building schematic and suddenly expanded into a larger red area, which was roughly the size of an elevator shaft. It continued descending for several hundred more metres before suddenly expanding into a large, well, sphere. We craned our neck up to the schematic of the Grand Mirage, which had been moved upward to accommodate the red column and the large red sphere. The large red sphere whose diameter was half a city block. "That's the mysterious 4.2%?" I asked at last.

"You're sure it isn't, say, more?" Miranda frowned. "Say, fifty percent?"

"Positive," Kasumi said firmly. "I know it looks huge. But I think all this," she waved her hands to encompass the red sphere, "is just… housing room for the secure network. Maybe someone went a little overboard. Or found this enormous block of spare room and decided to use it."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "An enormous block of spare room that is conveniently shaped in a sphere?"

"Just throwing out random guesses, Shep," Kasumi said. "Hopefully Jacob and Zaeed can dig up a few more clues. Maybe ask for a tour after the interview."

"That's not an uncommon question for interviewees to ask," I nodded. "They might say no, but it doesn't hurt to ask."

"And if they do say yes, I've got you covered," Kasumi said. She opened her hand and revealed a pair of dull grey disks, each the size of a fingernail.

"Shiny," I declared. **(8)** "What are they?"

"Meet the GLG-20," Kasumi declared, "the latest in hacking technology. Tap the rim and the bottom opens up to reveal an adhesive pad, which can adhere to any flat surface. Once you slap it on, it'll automatically scan for nearby electronic equipment to hack—anything from computers to datapads to locks. Once it gains access, it'll copy any data it can find. Pass codes, e-mails, computer files—you name it."

"And then it'll send that data to us?" Jacob asked.

"Not exactly," Kasumi admitted. "It won't be able to send it all the way over here. That would require a stronger transmitter and a larger power supply, both of which would make it much larger."

"And far easier to detect," Miranda added.

"'A stronger transmitter'," Garrus repeated. "I assume that means it is capable of sending any data it captures over a shorter distance."

"It can send tight-beam transmissions to any omni-tool within nineteen metres that contains the correct receiver," Kasumi confirmed.

"I have used items like this in the past," Thane said, taking one of the GLG-20s from Kasumi's hand. "Mostly EM-50s. They were less advanced than what you describe here."

"How quickly could we get any data from these things?" I wanted to know.

"Based on what I've seen at the Grand Mirage, it should be able to crack their security within five to fifteen seconds," Kasumi replied. "After that, the download itself would depend on the size of the data packet. If it's small, a couple seconds. A standard data drive—maybe thirty seconds, tops. The average computer mainframe would take at least three minutes."

"If Jacob and Zaeed could distribute a couple of these things during their interview, who knows how much intel we could gather?" I grinned. "This is exactly what we need."

"Do we really need this, Shepard?" Grunt wanted to know. "I thought you were just gonna meet some Cerberus guy and get something from him."

"That's the plan," I conceded. "But plans have a funny way of going awry."

"Especially when Shepard is involved," Miranda said, a little too cheekily for my liking.

"Right now, we have time to prepare and gather intel about anything we don't know about," I continued after giving Miranda a pointed look. "The staff areas and that thing," I pointed to the red room, the giant underground red sphere and the line/shaft connecting them, "qualifies as unknown." The more intel we can gather now, the fewer surprises we'll encounter later."

"But I _like _surprises," Grunt pouted. "They mean shooting and screaming and explosions and more shooting and setting things on fire and blowing them up!"

As familiar as I was with everything on Grunt's list, I had to admit that they occurred way too often for my liking. Which was why I preferred to avoid them by knowing as much as possible in advance. Something that Grunt clearly disagreed with. "And that's why I'm the battlemaster who does funny human things," I muttered under my breath.

"For which I'm eternally grateful," Miranda muttered back.

"Now that we've got that figured out, maybe we should do those mock interviews," Garrus suggested. "After that, Jacob and Zaeed can get some practice learning how to use the GLG-20s so they don't have to fumble with them at the Mirage and blow their cover."

"Good idea," Zaeed declared. "Would be bloody embarrassing to screw up by hacking our own hardsuits."

"If you have a few to spare, maybe I could take a look," Tali added. "I might be able to shave a few seconds off by enhancing the hacking algorithms or upgrading the data compression software."

"Good idea, all of them," I nodded. "Let's get to it."

Garrus led Jacob, Zaeed, Miranda and Jack to yet another warehouse to hold these mock interviews. I noticed he had put himself between Miranda and Jack, thus preventing them from biotically ripping each other to shreds. Even though they seemed to have calmed down somewhat, they still exchanged the occasional angry look or pointed barb. Part of me felt sorry for him.

And part of me felt just a little bit relieved that it wasn't _my_ ass in harm's way. I made a mental note to make it up to him. Maybe see if one of Liara's Shadow Broker contacts found another sniper scope upgrade. Something like that. Which reminded me: I had to find a set of weights or something to install in the Normandy. Jacob might need a workout or two or ten to burn off some stress after dealing with Kasumi.

* * *

As it turned out, there were no catfights that involved biotics, guns or body parts being smeared on the wall. Jack got bored of people sitting around and doing nothing but talking, so she left and joined the rest of us in a poker game.

Once the interviews were over, Kasumi installed the GLG-20 receivers and accompanying software packaging. It didn't take long for Zaeed to figure things out. Jacob had a little more trouble with it—he kept touching the adhesive pad and getting them stuck to his fingers. But he got the hang of it. Eventually. Then they practiced attaching it to random equipment and act casual while the GLG-20s worked their magic without accidentally walking out of range. They proved adept at the attaching part and the not-walking-out-of-range part. Acting casual… um… well…

…I'll get back to you on that. **(9)**

Kasumi was very reluctant to leave. Partly because she was enjoying the impromptu comedy act Jacob and Zaeed were putting on, partly because she wanted to make sure they could get it right without blowing their cover and mostly because she kept undressing Jacob with her eyes. You know you have a problem when it's Gruntwho's reminding you that you have to check in, packing up all your clothes and dragging you out the door because you're too busy taking pics of your unrequited crush with your omni-tool.

I'm sure Jacob had figured it out by this point. Though it's possible he thought that Kasumi's omni-tool was broken. But I'm pretty sure he figured it out.

We gave Kasumi and Grunt plenty of time to get to the Grand Mirage before sending Jacob and Zaeed out for their 'interview.' "Now remember, be honest," Miranda told them as they left.

"But not _too _honest," I added.

"And don't ask about salaries up front," Garrus said. "Remember, it's not what you can get from your employers: it's what you can do _for _your employers."

"We have compiled a list of interview tips and strategies based on our extensive extranet research," Legion informed them. "You can peruse our findings on your omni-tools."

"We should probably go," Jacob suggested, glancing at Zaeed.

"Damn right," Zaeed agreed.

I think they had enough advice from us. Call it a hunch. I get those from time to time.

Miranda and I left soon after. We were supposedly on vacation, after all. So we decided to play tourist. We went to some museum showing modern asari art. Our eyes temporarily widened when we saw how long the lineup was, just like all the other civvies. We got in line and resigned ourselves to a ridiculously long wait, just like all the other civvies. We shuffled forward one step at a time, just like all the other civvies. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we got to the ticket booth and gasped at the exorbitant price of admission,just like…

…well, you get the idea.

Once we finally got inside, we began to peruse the galleries. Where it quickly became obvious to me that a career of learning multiple ways to kill, maim and otherwise give hostiles a really bad day did absolutely squat to prepare me for the arcane and inscrutable mysteries of modern art. I held out for ten minutes before giving up and consulting one with greater knowledge in such things: "Miranda, what's that?"

"The latest work of a salarian artist who goes by the moniker of 'Tau'," Miranda replied. "It's a neo-fractal minimalist representation of a forest."

"Oh," I said with my usual rapier wit. "So that's why it looks like a bunch of spikes of different heights, all in varying shades of green?"

"Exactly."

"Oh."

It didn't take a genius of Miranda's caliber to realize I was a bit out of my depth. "You know, you could always read the descriptions attached to each work of art," she suggested.

Now that she mentioned, there _was _a holographic description hovering next to the spiky neo-fractal whatsit. "Oh," I uttered. Three for three. Clearly, I was on a roll.

The rest of my visit went by in a blur. I vaguely recall a lot of circles and dashes and lines and what amounted to a bunch of holographic BS. The only things I actually remember in any detail were the sculptures of naked asari. There was an entire gallery dedicated to them. Oddly enough, that was the point when Miranda decided it was time to leave. Too bad—we had spent a lot of money to get into that museum after all, and there were still four more floors to explore. **(10)**

Then again, it had taken a lot of time to get through the first three floors of circles and dashes and lines and naked asari. Jacob and Zaeed were probably back by now. So we left the museum, stopping only to purchase a portrait of Illium's cityscape—surprisingly not in circles, dashes or lines—from the gift shop. We arrived just in time to see Kasumi skipping into the warehouse. Grunt was behind her, carrying a bunch of overstuffed shopping bags with one hand. **(11)** I looked at Miranda. "How much money did we get from turning in those Eclipse smugglers and dirty cops?"

"Not enough to cover Kasumi's purchases," she replied.

"Should we be worried?" I wanted to know.

"I would, but my credit accounts aren't being rapidly depleted."

"Gee. Thanks."

"Any time."

Having ended that chat on such an encouraging conclusion, we entered the warehouse. Sure enough, Jacob and Zaeed had returned. "How was your trip?" Garrus greeted us.

"Okay," I shrugged. "Visited some art museum. Kinda boring, to be honest. We had to leave before things got interesting."

"What do you mean?" Garrus asked curiously.

I glanced at Miranda, whose previous sassiness had vanished. "I think we have more important things to talk about," Miranda said firmly.

"Art museum, huh?" Jack snorted. "Not surprised she'd like that shit. I mean, look at her. She's an artist's wet dream."

"Okay let's get settled and Jacob and Zaeed can tell us all about their interview and we can make some new plans and my oh my how time's passed and I'm really curious about that interview and how did it go by the way?" I interrupted very loudly.

Kasumi downloaded the data from the GLG-20s Jacob and Zaeed planted. While she began her analysis, they gave us a sitrep. "It was kinda stressful at first, the way they kept asking about our past and our qualifications and such," Jacob started.

"But it was pretty clear how desperate they were," Zaeed chortled. "By the end, you could tell they'd made up their minds to hire us. It would've been funny if it we didn't realize why they were so screwed."

"Why?" I immediately asked.

"There's a… an unspoken criterion to the selection process," Jacob explained. "It wasn't clear at first and I thought I was just imagining things. Or maybe it was a coincidence. But the more we looked, the more we realized something."

"The staff is mostly human," Zaeed said, cutting to the chase.

Come to think of it, they were right. The staff that we'd been in contact with was mostly human. Actually, they were all human. Mind you, we hadn't spent a lot of time in there, so our assessment wasn't necessarily accurate. "You're sure?" I asked.

"Aside from the Blue Sun mercs who got shanghaied into service, all the security staff are human," Zaeed nodded. "Same with the rest of the staff. Except for some of the waitresses—there are some asari there."

Miranda and I looked at each other. "A hotel and casino complex built in part by human companies," I said aloud.

"On an asari world," Miranda continued.

"Staffed predominantly by humans."

"Except for some positions that could be linked to subservience rather than authority."

"Does that remind you of a group we used to work with?" I asked. **(12)**

"There are striking similarities," Miranda agreed. "Perhaps that's one of the reasons the Cerberus agent chose to meet us—or Pillar and O'Connell—at the Grand Mirage."

"Now I'm glad I have to stay behind on tech support," Tali declared.

"The implied prejudices of this establishment are troubling, to say the least," Samara agreed.

"They weren't exactly wearing Cerberus logos, but yeah, we thought the same thing," Jacob agreed. "Gave us something else to think about when we were trying to plant those bugs without being noticed."

"But you did manage to plant them," Kasumi pointed out. "This definitely helps us fill in the blanks."

She was right. As we watched the schematic on the holo-table, the staff zones—which had previously been big blocks of yellow—began to change. Grid lines formed, outlining rooms and structures. I zoomed in on one of them, and marveled at the amount of detail I saw. "This'll help us penetrate that 4.2%," I said.

"Speaking of which," Zaeed said, "we never got to enter that orange/red zone. But we did get an earful about it. Well, the big sphere thing at the bottom."

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"Well, you know each hotel room and suite has a safe. Decent size, decent security—"

Kasumi sniffed.

"For a casino," Jacob added for her sake.

Kasumi relented with a slow nod. Which conveniently let her check Jacob out from head to toe.

"But from what we heard, any big-ticket stuff goes into the vault," Zaeed continued. "Which is down there."

I looked at the schematic again. "That's a big vault," I said.

"It's not the vault," Zaeed said.

Miranda frowned. "But you said—"

"I said the vault's down there," Zaeed rasped. "The vault's actually part of a starship."

"It's what?" asked, well, most of us in unison. Legion just stared at Jacob and Zaeed implacably before blinking their… eye.

"It's part of a starship," Jacob repeated. "Specifically, an old frigate's eezo core—complete with containment shielding—and the rooms around it."

I tried to imagine the Normandy—well, the SR-1 anyway. That would be closer in size. I pictured its engine core and made it smaller. Then I imagined the volume of deck space around the core. The surrounding sections of Deck Three… the corresponding sections of Deck Two above it... the corresponding sections of a hypothetical Deck Four below it… wow. **(13)** "That could hold a lot of stuff," I admitted.

"Plus the eezo core lets it fly around."

Our heads whipped towards Zaeed. "Say what?" Garrus managed.

"Seems there's a reason for giving the vault its own eezo core, aside from a backup power source," Zaeed nodded. "Bloody thing can fly. Randomly goes left, up, down, whatever batshit direction it wants

"Are you telling me that the Grand Mirage has an improvised vault custom-built from a cannibalized starship that just merrily floats around under the streets of Illium?" I sputtered.

"Don't know about the 'merry' part," Jacob said, "but… yeah. Pretty much."

"Um."

"Wow."

"Huh."

That was the extent of our scintillating and verbose reply before we lapsed into silence. We must've stood there for at least a minute, blankly staring at each other. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a _little _overwhelmed by all this. My feeble mind spun like the wheel in my space hamster's cage—if the cage had a wheel, that is. But the point was I didn't know what to do next. Where the heck would you start? How in the galaxy would you break into such a place?

Luckily, some of us were able to take this unexpected development in stride. "Cool," Kasumi approved at last, a gleam in her eye. Figured she would take this news as an unexpected birthday gift. "They built a vault whose schematics wouldn't be on any official records because no one's ever built anything like this before. The randomized flight pattern means it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to find a fixed point of entry that would be ideal for breaching the underground chamber _and _the vault. As for the vault itself, breaching it won't be easy—even if the walls haven't been reinforced with hull plating, we're still talking about military-grade alloys here. Breaking the encryption would be tricky as well."

"Is there a bright side to all this?" I asked, somewhat plaintively.

"We can take comfort in the fact that, if we're lucky, we won't have to deal with the vault at all," Miranda offered.

She was right, of course. I guess I was getting ahead of myself, worrying myself into a state of mental paralysis over a scenario that might never come to pass. I took a deep breath. Held it. Then I exhaled, letting all that air—and most of my anxiety—go. I had to admit, I felt better. Now that I was no longer in a state of mental paralysis, I could start processing the intel. "Let's start at the beginning," I said. "Are there any rules or regs on what can be put in that vault?"

"Kinda," Zaeed replied. "The vault ain't exactly public knowledge, for starters."

Which made sense. Certainly its existence wasn't advertised on any tourist brochures I'd seen, nor was it mentioned on the Grand Mirage extranet site. The only reason we knew to look for it in the first place was because of Kasumi's snooping.

"The safe in your room is there for a reason," Zaeed continued. "It's there to hold your loot, not to look pretty. But if you know about the vault and really, really want your precious treasures locked away down there, you gotta ask real nice to fill out some special form. Then you gotta get approval from the Mirage bigwigs. Then you gotta shell out a thousand creds per day. Plus an extra five grand up front."

Translation: yes, there's a premium level of security for your belongings, but you have to suffer a lot of bureaucracy and pay through the nose for it. **(14)**

"There might be an exception, though," Jacob added, leaning forward. "One of the guys interviewing us said that some customers were able to bypass all that paperwork."

"Why?" I asked.

Jacob shook his head. "The guy didn't know exactly. All he said was that orders were relayed from his superiors. He also guessed that those customers were either really important or knew the owners."

"Or both," Miranda suggested.

"Or both," Jacob conceded.

"All right," I said. "Let's say someone knows about the vault and, one way or another, gets the okay to store his or her valuables down there. What's the next step? How does it get down there?"

"We're not exactly sure," Zaeed admitted. "We'd been asking a lotta questions about the vault by that point. Didn't want 'em thinking 'Hey, why are these blokes who just got hired askin' so many goddamn questions about the vault. Maybe they wanna rob it.'"

Fair enough. While there was a chance they could simply dismiss it as nothing more than a valid security concern from an overly conscientious new hire, Zaeed's scenario was more likely. And preserving their status as an extra set of backup was more important than personal curiosity—or, in Kasumi's case, professional curiosity.

"But we did see a guard taking some fancy box to the vault," Zaeed offered.

"Tell me everything," Kasumi and I said in unison. **(15)**

"Not much to tell," Jacob said, almost apologetically. "He passed us in the hallway, walked to an elevator and passed it to the four guards stationed there. Then he walked away."

"Even that tells us something," Miranda said thoughtfully. "It confirms that access to the vault is acquired through an elevator system. It suggests that at least four men are stationed there. And it tells us that those men are specifically assigned to guard access to the vault, up to and including the handling of any possessions or belongings destined for safekeeping down there."

"And that intel we can use if and when we have to," I nodded. "Jacob, Zaeed; is there anything else you can tell us?"

"Not that I can think of," Jacob replied.

Zaeed's response was a simple "Nope."

"Right then," Garrus said. "I'll debrief the two of you, just to make sure we have everything covered. Shepard, Miranda; the two of you should continue playing tourist or return to the Grand Mirage. Kasumi; continue your analysis. You and Grunt shouldn't return at the same time as Shepard and Miranda. The rest of you have your assignments."

Clearly Garrus had settled into his role as commander of this mission. He knew how things stood, what needed to be done, who needed to go and when they should leave, and how to keep everyone else occupied. So there really wasn't any reason for Miranda and I to stay.

Besides, we had yet to test out that Jacuzzi. **(16)**

* * *

As eager as we were to return to our hotel room and… indulge ourselves, a certain amount of operational discipline did manage to penetrate our collective fog of lust. So we took another circuitous route throughout Nos Astra—one that did _not _pass any sites we'd visited before—pausing only to eat a late lunch at some restaurant that I saw on an advertisement during my channel-surfing the previous night.

Miranda later admitted that she could have recommended any number of delicacies or otherwise delicious dishes. But Ben Pillar and Katie O'Connell the oblivious tourist couple wouldn't have recognized them. So we ordered what amounted to the asari equivalent of burgers and fries. Needless to say, it was expensive. My credit accounts were in tears. My kleptomania was tossing and turning for opportunities to fill that ever-widening void.

Somehow I managed to ignore all that. The things I do for the mission.

After several hours, we finally returned to the Grand Mirage. The skycar we had rented was just touching down…

…when our omni-tools beeped. Someone was trying to contact us.

A quick glance confirmed that it wasn't over any of the comm frequencies that the squad had established, nor was it using any of our usual encryption codes. In fact, the only time I'd seen that particular comm frequency was when I was reviewing the intel Anderson had relayed to us back on the Citadel.

Aw, crap. **(17)**

My eyes met Miranda's. Our mysterious Cerberus contact was either here or within comm range of Illium. And he or she was establishing contact. Two days early. I had a bad feeling about this. But there was only one thing to do. I tilted my head towards Miranda's omni-tool, silently telling her to reply. My fingers danced over the control panel, bringing the skycar's systems to standby hover instead of shutting down like I'd originally planned. Meanwhile, Miranda activated her omni-tool. "Hello?" she said.

"_Hello," _a male voice said. _"I'm calling from Sirius Opinion Polls. Do you have time to answer some questions?"_

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time for another one of those hour-long surveys," Miranda replied, giving the perfectly innocuous yet agreed-upon response to the perfectly innocuous yet agreed-upon recognition phrase.

"_This survey will only take a minute," _the male voice reassured her. _"We've been hired by Fishdog Food Factory to do some market research. Do you eat at Fishdog Food Factory?"_

Again, my eyes met Miranda's. The contact was pretending to be doing a survey for some company—as expected. That contact asked whether we ate at some eating establishment. This was also expected, since the name of the restaurant would tell us where the exchange would take place. However, we were expecting to meet at one of the kiosks or restaurants located inside the Grand Mirage. None of those booths or establishments here belonged to Fishdog Food Factory. Even worse, this so-called survey was taking place two days early.

Again—aw, crap. But all we could do was continue to play along and hope we could figure something out. "Yes, I do," Miranda said.

"_How many times per week do you eat at Fishdog Food Factory?" _the voice asked. _"Once a week or less? Five times per week or less? Or more than five times per week?"_

Once. Five. Five. Translation: the time for the exchange had just been set for 1550 hours. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a subtle, almost imperceptible grimace mar Miranda's face before she replied "More than five times a week." I knew that reaction was due to both the recognition of how badly things had gone awry and the thought of eating fast food—much less fast food from the same place—for six or more days per week.

"_And that's it," _the voice concluded cheerfully. _"Thank you for taking the time to answer our questions. Fishdog Food Factory is grateful for your input, and reminds you that their tasty treats are always a short walk away."_

I was already looking it up before Miranda closed the comm channel. "Out of all the Fishdog Food Factory locations within Nos Astra," I reported, "there's only one that could possibly qualify as being within walking distance."

"So all we have to do is meet our mysterious contact," Miranda bit out from behind gritted teeth. "Who has apparently deemed it necessary to deviate from the plan."

"Good thing we bought that portrait," I reminded her.

"True," Miranda sighed.

I should explain.

The reason for blowing an additional wad of credits at the gift shop was to give us an excuse to visit our room if we had to. And in this case, we definitely had to visit our room and alert the squad to our status. Granted, we could do so by opening a comm channel rather than going back to the hotel room. But even an encrypted conversation could be detected, if not intercepted and decrypted. I preferred to save that for a true emergency. Besides, we had already devised a simple backup plan.

When we returned to our room, I went straight to the safe and put away the portrait from the museum gift shop. By the time I closed and locked the safe, Miranda was already rummaging through the closet. "What do you think, Ben?" she asked, still maintaining our cover just in case it hadn't been completely compromised. I ignored the dress she held out and looked at her other hand, the one that had tentatively selected the message we wanted to send.

When we had first checked in, Miranda had arranged her clothes such that a white business suit was hung on the right hand side. White meant that the situation was normal and everything was going according to plan. Blue meant that a new development had occurred or a new piece of intel had been uncovered and Garrus needed to send someone to our room ASAP—like Kasumi had yesterday when we found out about the job opportunities at the Mirage. Green meant that we were moving to meet the contact. Yellow meant that the mission might be compromised and that we may have to abort. Orange meant that our cover was blown and that the squad should assume that we were operating under duress. Red meant that we were aborting the mission, we were going to ground and we needed to evac as soon as possible. Black was the worst case scenario. Black meant that not only the mission was blown, but that there was no hope in hell of extracting me or Miranda, so Garrus and the squad should run like the wind and leave us behind.

Miranda's hand, the one not holding the dress she proposed to change into, was casually resting on a green blouse. Made sense: whoever Garrus had watching our window would know we were going to meet our contact and realize that this was way too early. Hopefully, Garrus would find out we were leaving the Grand Mirage—either through the security vid-cams that Tali and Legion had hacked or by the watcher noting our departure by skycar. Orange was the next best option, but that might be an overreaction. Better to stick with green. "Looks great, Katie," I replied.

Only the slightest hint of hesitation in Miranda's smile told me how concerned she was at our situation. She ducked into the bathroom to change. She emerged a minute later—an unbelievably short period of time which further betrayed her unease—and hung up the now-empty clothes hanger, an excuse that allowed her to move the green blouse to the right hand side. And the orange dress next to the green blouse. A nice improvisation on her part, I thought.

We took the elevator down and slowly made our way through the casino floor. I paused to play a round or two at the slot machines before a supposedly exasperated Miranda—or, I should say, Katie—dragged me away. Then we casually strolled through the rest of the Grand Mirage and out to the skycar lot, where we took our sweet time in picking a skycar to rent. Once we'd chosen a skycar, we slowly walked over and held a mock argument over who was going to drive this time. Anything to buy as much time as possible for the watcher to realize something was amiss, alert Garrus and have the squad formulate a plan. **(18)**

In the end, Miranda won out. We got in the skycar and Miranda turned it on, following all the preflight checks like a newbie who'd just gotten her driver's license—or a skilled intelligence agent finding yet another way to buy us a few more precious seconds.

Then we took off. I reached out to hold her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

I felt her squeeze back.

* * *

_(__1): Yes, this is very titillating. No, there is no photographic, audio or video evidence. Shepard and Miranda were very careful about that._

_(2): Goddess, yes._

_(3): This would be the human gambling tradition of getting someone—preferably a physically attractive individual—to exhale on the dice for good luck. The alternative, a euphemism for oral sex, would have been forbidden due to regulations on public decency—and the fact that it was not the sixth day of the ninth month. _

_(4): A more military or protocol-minded leader might have said something like 'Report' or 'Status'. I believe the casual approach adopted by Shepard was intended to reflect his recognition that most of the squad were not acting or former members of any military. Furthermore, he could afford a more relaxed form of leadership in this situation._

_(5): I cannot confirm definitively whether the previous history between Jacob and Miranda, or the present relationship between Shepard and Miranda, was common knowledge. However, my understanding of gossip and 'scuttlebutt' suggests it was highly probable. _

_(6): Shepard often used this phrase to fill in something he neglected to cover or explain earlier. Personally, I find this verbal backtracking to be more natural and authentic than a formal report arranged in chronological order._

_(7): It would also increase the chances of bumping into one Conrad Verner who, through a series of unfortunate and comical events, had left Illium, wandered around the galaxy with the intent of returning to the Citadel, only to wind up on Illium once more. And yes, he still had his replica N7 hardsuit. The mind boggles. _

_(8): I believe Shepard intended this as a compliment or expression of approval. _

_(9): The amount of time it took to adapt their mannerisms was roughly the amount of time it took for them to conduct their mock interview. Times three. _

_(10): That particular gallery had been there since the museum opened. The curators kept it around because it proved to be the most popular tourist attraction, a decision that was heartily approved by the local restaurant, hotel industry and sex trade industries. _

_(11): Kasumi later admitted that she wanted to buy more, but was forced to acknowledge the tactical benefits of allowing Grunt a free hand to grab a weapon. Besides, the idea of actually paying for things—on Illium, anyway—was quite a novel concept._

_(12): Again, Shepard goes to great pains to emphasize that he did not work _for _Cerberus or the Illusive Man. His inclusion of Miranda—and, presumably, Jacob—is more symbolic than historically accurate._

_(13): The Tantalus Drive Core that provided power and propulsion to the original Normandy SR-1 was twice the size of any other ship of comparable size. Furthermore, it only had three decks. _

_(14): A human idiom suggesting that something has a very high or unreasonably exorbitant price._

_(15): Another illustration of the extent and depths of Shepard's curiosity._

_(16): To borrow one of Shepard's phrases: 'Oh for crying out loud.'_

_(17): Indeed._

_(18): Despite the seriousness of the situation, I have no doubt that Miranda's participation in this argument was genuine, considering Shepard's questionable driving record._


	5. Fast Food and Faster Skycars

**Chapter 5: Fast Food and Faster Skycars**

It was quiet at first.

Part of the reason was because of technological progress as far as skycars were concerned. The one we had rented was very new. Come to think of it, all the skycars presently in the air around us were very new. **(1)** Top of the line. Faster, more efficient and quieter than the vehicles you'd find on any other world. It wasn't completely silent—the propulsive drive at the back gave the usual whine you'd hear around contragravity vehicles. But it was fairly quiet nonetheless.

The main reason was the fact that Miranda and I were occupied with our own thoughts. Chances were pretty damn good that we were thinking the same thing: Why did our contact establish, well, _contact _two days ahead of schedule? Why did he or she want to meet at some fast food joint instead of somewhere inside the Grand Mirage as arranged? How long had our contact been on Illium? Had he or she been watching us all along? Did we slip up somewhere? Why wait until now to contact us? Why contact us two days early? Why change the meeting location? Had our contact been on Illium the whole time? Did we…

…round and round the wheels in my noggin spun, questions churning away. Sometimes they changed, but the gist was always the same. The worst part was that we had no way of knowing. The only way for us to find out was to go to the closest Fishdog Food Factory, meet the contact and play it by ear.

That's usually my forte. Playing things by ear, I mean. Taking in the situation at hand and the overall objectives given to me, devising a plan on the fly, adapting it as needed—which usually occurred when the best laid plans of the brass went south. **(2)** And this definitely qualified as a set of plans that had definitely gone south.

In an effort to extract myself from the never-ending cycle of question, I checked the chronometer. 1539. Eleven minutes to get to the new meeting spot. We would probably make it without breaking any local speed limits, but it would be pretty close. No time to sit down, contact the squad and make a new set of careful, well-thought out plans. No doubt that was the point. All we had time to do was go back to our room—ostensibly to put away a pricey knick-knack and let Miranda change—and move a few dresses and blouses around. Adapting a pre-arranged signal system as needed to fit a new scenario. But it cost us a few precious minutes.

Still, we could probably make it on time.

"Will you please stop that?"

Those were the first words Miranda had said since we'd taken off. Which made the terse, snapping tone in her voice all the more startling. "What?"

"Tapping on the door. It's distracting."

I looked at her blankly, then turned my attention to the skycar door. Sure enough, my hand was drumming on the door in a steady, repetitive pattern. Nervous twitch, I guess. **(3)** How long had I been doing that? "Oops," I winced, jerking my hand away. "Sorry."

"Honestly," Miranda said exasperatedly. "I know you're not driving, so you don't have anything to do with your hands—"

"There is something that comes to mind," I interrupted, "but then you'd get distracted and we might get into an accident."

Miranda ignored that and continued "—but can you find something else to do that's less annoying?"

"This is the song that never ends… it just goes on and on my friend…" **(4)**

"I said less annoying, not more annoying."

"Oh."

"Can you please take this seriously?"

"I am."

"Really?"

"Well… okay," I admitted. "No, I'm not. Just worried about the possibility that the mission is blown, I guess. There's a chance that we're worrying over nothing and the original plan will still work. Maybe I'm making too big a deal out of this."

"Maybe you are," Miranda said. "There could be a simple and innocuous explanation for why our mysterious contact moved up the day of the exchange and changed the location without any warning."

I shot her a look. "But you don't believe that. Do you?"

Miranda sighed. "Based on what little information we have, I think it's just as likely that our cover identities and our mission have been compromised."

"What I wouldn't give to have Legion run the numbers," I said thoughtfully. "Or even EDI."

"Focus, Shepard."

"Right. Focus. If we go in looking nervous and twitchy and the contact didn't suspect us, then he or she will wonder why we're acting so odd, which could potentially tip him or her off. For now, the best thing we can do is go in as if everything's okay and going according to plan."

"Agreed."

"But, on the off chance that the jig is up and Plan A's a loss, we need a new plan that we can implement on a moment's notice."

"Yes. A plan that takes into account the lack of hardsuits."

"Which wouldn't matter considering how long it takes to get into those things," I reminded her.

"I've been thinking of a way to address that."

"Really?"

"Still in the planning stages. Nothing concrete."

"Damn it."

"I know."

"Well, we can factor in the lack of sniper rifles, submachine guns, test-tube krogan and other backup. So what _do _we have?"

"My biotics," Miranda started.

"My cloak—all six seconds of it," I added.

"Our pistols—with disruptor mods."

"Our omni-tools."

"We can do a lot of damage if we have to."

"And we make a good team."

"But there's no denying the fact that we may be walking into a trap."

I'd been thinking the same thing. "Change of venue to something we haven't even begun to map out yet."

"And we're operating on the contact's schedule."

"His territory. His timetable. His rules."

"Or her," Miranda was quick to point out.

"Or her."

"We're playing a whole new game here."

"Whose rules we don't even know yet."

"So either we have to be really fast learners…"

"…or we'll have to change the game."

That gave me an idea. I leaned forward and activated the skycar's operating systems. "Shepard?" Miranda inquired. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing to change the game if we have to."

"Plan B?"

"Plan B."

"Which involves tinkering with the operating systems?"

"Yep."

Miranda thought about that. "All right. Just one question."

"Yeah?"

"Do you have to do it while I'm driving?"

* * *

I think Miranda was concerned that my tinkering with the skycar's operating systems would somehow cause the software to crash, which would mean that _we _would crash. As if that would ever happen. It's not as if I was writing a brand new code, after all. I was just taking advantage of the existing software and functions and making a minor tweak or two when needed.

Still, I had to concede that Miranda might have a point. And this was the first time she'd been driving in at least a year, if not two or three. So I decided to sit back, study the user's manual, and restrict my preparations for Plan B to the simpler, safer stuff. The trickier parts, the things that required circumventing or flat-out deleting certain protocols, I saved until after we arrived at our destination and touched down.

I know. I'm so kind and generous.

By the time I was done, we only had a minute left. This might've been enough time if it wasn't for the fact that our meeting location was conveniently located at the end of a cul-de-sac, one that was a hundred metres from where Miranda had parked—there were a lot of skycars parked there. Probably because this was one of the few streets of Nos Astra that _didn't _have parking meters.

My eyes quickly cased the room as I entered Fishdog Food Factory; partly out of habit, partly because the back of my neck had begun to tingle. A pair of customers at eleven o'clock, eating at a table near the front counter. Another pair of customers munching away near the cashier stall at one o'clock. Over at three o'clock, five customers were chatting away at a large table. Two more customers were nursing their drinks, taking advantage of their window seat location—located as close to six o'clock as possible without actually blocking the door—to admire the wonderful sights of the dead-end alley. Yet another customer was just sitting down with her order at another window seat location; this one at seven o'clock. And then there was the trio at ten o'clock who were too preoccupied with their omni-tools to eat. **(5)**

Finally, there was the customer sitting at a table that was more or less in the centre of the restaurant. Human. Male. Looked kinda bland and nondescript. In fact, he'd probably blend into any crowd, if it wasn't for the cap and oversized jersey that proudly displayed the neon colours and butt-ugly logo of the Washington Hackers biotiball team—the prearranged clothes that our contact was supposed to wear.

The tingling at the back of my neck escalated to a frantic tap-dancing. Our contact was in the middle of the restaurant. All the other customers just happened to be sitting around him, positioned in such a way that they could have a clear line-of-sight at the contact's table without accidentally shooting each other. Of course, it could be a coincidence. Maybe they weren't all working together. Maybe they were all nothing more than fifteen oblivious civvies. Maybe the customers-slash-potential-bad-guys didn't outnumber Miranda and I by a ratio of eight to one.

In my experience, the universe is never that accommodating.

Only years of training and bloody experience kept me from reaching for my pistol as I walked towards the contact. Only my well-honed lack of self-preservation kept me from doing the smart, sensible and sane thing—running out the door screaming and babbling at the top of my lungs. **(6)**

"Hi there," I said. "Hackers fan, huh?"

"That's right," the contact said.

"Think they'll ever beat the Usaru Maestros?" **(7)**

"Maybe not. But I've always found it more rewarding to root for the underdog."

Well, now we'd exchanged the correct phrases—including the obligatory dog reference because Cerberus is, you know, a _dog_—which meant that we weren't talking to some random biotiball nut and he wasn't talking to a random pair of civvies. Seeing the seats that were conveniently pulled out for us, Miranda and I sat down.

"You two hungry?" he asked. "There's a lot of stuff here. Varren burgers. Varren nuggets. Pyjak burgers. Pyjak nuggets. Roast varren leg. Or if you want, they've got a hampyren special."

"'Hampyren'?" Miranda repeated.

"Space hamster stuffed inside a pyjak stuffed inside a varren," I whispered. "Galactic version of a turducken." **(8)**

"Marvelous," Miranda deadpanned.

"But if you ask me, nothing beats a good ol' fashioned human cheeseburger." To demonstrate, our contact took a healthy bite out of his good ol' fashioned human cheeseburger, groaning in delight with every chew. Which reminded me that I hadn't had anything to eat since the all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast at the Grand Mirage. Another reason to dislike this guy, aside from his affiliations.

"Sorry for not waiting for you," he apologized. "I was _starving._"

My stomach chose that moment to make its simple, primal desires known. Very loudly.

"Guess I'm not the only one," he grinned. "Come on, order something."

"We can wait," Miranda said firmly.

"She's not very fond of this establishment," I lied. "Last time we were here, she asked for a varren burger—medium rare, extra pickles. And, well, let's just say she didn't get what she wanted."

"The burger was so well done it was overcooked," Miranda played along, adding a very convincing scowl. "And it didn't have a single pickle. At all."

"Blasphemy," I whispered to the contact, pretending that I'd just divulged a great secret. Then I winced—no need to pretend there. Miranda was wearing heels, you see, while I… I was wearing nothing but a pair of sneakers. Rather than the armoured boots that came with my hardsuit. Yet another reason why I felt so exposed. "Um, I mean, terrible, _terrible _service," I tried again, shaking my head gravely. "I ask you, what happened to customer service? What happened to the customer is always right? No one cares about that any more. It's a crying shame, let me tell you. Why back in—"

"You'll have to excuse him," Miranda interrupted. "He gets a little overboard when he's blatantly backpedalling."

"Really?" the contact said, glancing my way and almost succeeding in masking his contempt. "You don't say."

I'd be offended, but at some point I'd apparently decided that Ben Pillar was an embarrassment, blundering idiot and all-around nincompoop. Maybe I was laying it on a bit thick, but who's to say that TIMmy didn't drop the ball from time to time and hire the occasional dim bulb to join Cerberus's ranks?

"So if you can put down your cheeseburger for just a moment, maybe we can get this over with," I suggested. "Sooner we wrap up this meeting, sooner I can get something to eat. Somewhere that doesn't put me in the doghouse."

See? I can slip in Cerberus-approved dog references too. Go me.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," the contact sighed, putting down his cheeseburger.

Aw, crap.

"Why not?" I asked, ignoring all the alarm bells in my head. "Don't tell me it's because we're late."

"We were only late by a few seconds," Miranda added.

"Traffic sucked," I explained.

"So did the parking," Miranda grumbled.

"Which wouldn't have been an issue if we'd met somewhere at the Grand Mirage."

"Like we'd originally planned."

"True," the contact interjected, rudely breaking up the back-and-forth rhythm Miranda and I had established. Reason number three not to like this guy. "But it's easier to lock this place down than an entire hotel and casino."

I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if my simple, boring, wonderfully peaceful Plan A cried out in terror… and was suddenly, abruptly and very rudely silenced. **(9)**

"And why would you want to do something like that?" I asked innocently.

Our contact chose to answer my question with another question. "You know why I asked the two of you to arrive early?"

"Nope," I replied.

"Do tell," Miranda implored.

Apparently the contact had never read the Evil Overlord List, because he promptly complied. **(10)** "I was concerned that the two of you might be followed. Despite its numerous achievements and accomplishments, Cerberus has suffered a number of setbacks over the years."

Yes. Because experimenting on kids was a great achievement. Fooling around with geth, Thorian creepers and rachni were all wonderful accomplishments. And consistently losing control of all those projects, racking up a body count and forcing yours truly to clean up the mess was just a setback.

"I thought it might be wise to watch your backs and make sure no one was following you. Say, an Alliance spec-ops squad. Or one of the Special Task Groups. Or a damn Spectre."

Which should have been really difficult, if not impossible… unless he knew what Ben Pillar and Katie O'Connell looked like. Maybe he'd met them before. Which meant he made us from the beginning. Which meant that any faint hope I might have had of salvaging Plan A had now been thoroughly trampled.

Our contact chuckled. "You know, I had hoped to arrive before you guys. Do some initial reconnaissance, that sort of thing. But that didn't really pan out. Can you believe my freighter's coolant systems seized up mid-flight? We were drifting for almost a day while the crew made repairs. I can't tell you how relieved I was when we finally landed at the spaceport this morning."

Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad after all. Sounded like he hadn't been watching our every move from the moment we'd set foot on Illium. Unless he was lying. There was that horrible possibility. But the contact's clear desire to brag about his foresight and initiative and all-around brilliance suggested otherwise. Besides, the sensation at the back of my neck had slowed down to a tingle.

The contact's eyes narrowed. "Imagine my shock when I found out that the man and woman checked into Ben Pillar's and Katie O'Connell's room were _not _Ben Pillar and Katie O'Connell."

"Surprise!" I offered.

He didn't seem excited. What a shame.

All right. So the contact hadn't beaten us to Illium after all. Didn't mean we were out of the woods yet. **(11) **We still needed to know whether we were just slightly screwed, screwed, seriously screwed or catastrophically screwed. With my luck, it'd be the last one. "So what did you do next?" I asked, leaning forward as if he'd been telling me an exciting and suspenseful tale.

The contact leaned forward as well, mirroring my movements. "Well I was going to follow you. But I had to wait for you to leave first. Either you two were sleeping in—which is _not _like Pillar or O'Connell, by the way—or the two of you were screwing each other's brai—_oh for God's sake! You were!"_

Um. Oops. Slight lapse of discipline and tradecraft there.

"Well I have to give you credit for going the extra mile," the contact shook his head. "Been a while since I saw anyone go _that _far for the sake of the cover."

"Perhaps you weren't looking very hard," Miranda suggested. "So you made us. And you waited for us. Then what?"

"Well I followed you. Or I tried to. Not sure if you're really good at losing a tail or you're that bad a driver."

Choice number one. Obviously. **(12)**

"Once I lost you, I knew I needed a new plan to figure out what had happened and where the real Pillar and O'Connell were. So I laid a trap."

"A trap?"

The contact gave me a withering look. "Please. You replaced Pillar and O'Connell, passed yourselves off as them—right down to all the frequent sex—and you managed to give me the slip. Don't pretend that you're surprised."

Yeah, the nincompoop routine had run its course. "I'm guessing that some of the people here are interested in more than a bit of varren?" I offered with a smile.

He smiled back. His smile was a bit colder. "Try all of them."

Okay then. Intel gathered. Level of SNAFU established. **(13)**

Just then, the doors opened. Two humans walked in. Their eyes were hard. As hard as the contact's. And the other fifteen 'customers,' all of whom had suddenly found the two of us very, _very _interesting. I hoped my hair wasn't dirty or something. "They came alone, boss," one of the newcomers reported. "No one was following them."

That was apparently a cue for the so-called customers, all of whom got to their feet. Proof, if any was needed by this point, that we were on our own. The odds had just gone up to nine to one. Story of my life.

Could be worse, I suppose. The hired goons had one thing in common with us: they had to remain as inconspicuous as possible. That meant they couldn't protect themselves with military-grade hardsuits. Nor could they pack heavy weapons, sniper rifles, assault rifles or shotguns—not if they wanted to pass themselves off as random customers. All they could do was walk around in civvie jumpsuits, bring portable shield generators and stuff pistols in their pockets—just like Miranda and I had.

Besides, it was a safe bet that none of these guys had anywhere near our combined battlefield experience. They probably hadn't gone up against geth or Collectors on more than one occasion. They probably hadn't fought together so often that they knew each other's strengths and weaknesses. Or how the other guy might react in any given situation. The best way to compensate for any mistakes or take advantage of an opportunity. They sure as hell hadn't faced a constant, daily stream of life-or-death firefights where the odds were vastly stacked against them.

And they didn't have a plan B. One that should be starting right about now. All I had to do was stall a little longer. I turned my attention back to the contact, who had a wide grin on his face. "So the two of you came all by yourselves," he said. "Perfect."

"Friends of yours, I take it?" I guessed.

"It's amazing what—or, should I say, who—you can find when you put your mind to it," the contact replied.

"You just grabbed random thugs off the street and hired them as extra muscle?" Miranda sniffed.

"Hardly random thugs," the contact corrected me. "Eclipse isn't the only game in Nos Astra, you know."

True. But even Eclipse had nonhuman members. The fact that every one of the contact's backup were all human was quite striking. "I know Cerberus can move fast, but even they can't move that fast," I said.

"Sadly, you're correct," the contact sighed. "Fortunately, I found some allies who were… acceptable."

Interesting.

"Now then. I'm sure the Illusive Man will be very interested to meet the two of you."

He had no idea.

"But before we take you away, I have one question: who. are. you?"

"The name's Carmichael," I lied. "Charles Carmichael."** (14) **

"Sarah Walker," Miranda introduced herself.

"We're with Alliance Intelligence," I said. "And you're in big trouble."

There were a lot of chuckles. "Really," the contact stated. "You don't say."

"I do say," I insisted.

"He does," Miranda chimed in. "He really does."

"Explain," the contact demanded.

"Sure," I shrugged. "After you answer _my_ question. Seems only fair. We did just answer yours, after all."

The contact rolled his eyes. "Oh for the love of—what is it?"

"Does this place have insurance?"

The contact looked confused. "What do you—"

"Hey, what's that light?" one of the contact's hired goons interrupted.

"Is that a—"

"_MOVE!"_

That was the only warning TIMmy's stooge and his guns-for-hire had before our rental skycar crashed into the restaurant. It took out the doors, shattered all the windows and hit four of the contact's rent-a-thugs. Those unlucky souls soon discovered firsthand the limitations of portable shield generators—they were designed to deflect bullets, not rampaging vehicles following preprogrammed routes. Or vehicles whose safety protocols had been disengaged.

Hee, hee.

Those four thugs went flying like bowling pins. Their ribs, limbs and necks made a nice snapping noise as they hit the walls of the restaurant—or they would have, if all the commotion caused by the hacked skycar didn't drown it out. Not that we had the luxury to listen, since everyone was jumping, leaping or diving out of the way as the skycar continued on its course.

Well, some people did a bit more than that. As the skycar blithely plowed over and through every chair and table in its way, Miranda scrambled to her feet, snapped her wrist up and launched an EMP, frying the shields of the three bad guys who'd been sitting at 10 o'clock. While their shields shorted out, she made a break for the jagged hole where the door used to be, whipping out her pistol and firing at the seven o'clock thug who had the misfortune of being in the way. As the skycar hit the front counter and turned it to smithereens, I snapped my own wrist up—not as stylishly as Miranda, but it was good enough—and launched a ball of plasma at the suddenly vulnerable mercs before pulling out my own pistol and following Miranda's lead.

Unfortunately, things didn't go quite as planned. True, the thug we'd targeted took several hits. But none of them were kill-shots—trying to run and gun with any kind of accuracy is extremely difficult, if not impossible. To make matters worse, the remaining ten guys—the contact had pulled out a gun of his own and joined the fun—had recovered remarkably quickly and were now firing at us. No way we could get out of here without getting mowed down.

Skidding to a halt, I quickly knocked over a nearby table. As Miranda and I ducked behind the improvised cover, I assessed the situation. The skycar had finally come to a stop somewhere in the bowels of the Fishdog Food Factory kitchen. We had four deaths by vehicular homicide and three deaths by burning—no, one of them was staggering to his feet and slapping out the last couple licks of flame. I fixed that with a couple well-placed pistol shots when it looked like they'd slapped out the worst of the first. All right: seven down, eleven to go. Just over five-to-one odds. Not bad, all things considered. But it wasn't great by any stretch of the imagination.

"Any ideas?" Miranda asked.

"Blow up the skycar to even the odds?" I suggested.

"In an enclosed space," Miranda stated flatly. "With the two of us in it. There's a very high chance that we'll die immediately in the explosion. Or there's the high chance that we'll die in the very short term from fourth-degree burns, smoke inhalation, shrapnel damage and blunt force trauma. Or the moderately high chance that we'll die a slow and prolonged death by cancer, thanks to the prolonged and concentrated exposure to element zero dust that will be released from the skycar's propulsive systems."

"Well, sure it sounds bad when you put it that way," I frowned. "I see your point, though. We'll table that as Plan B."

"And Plan A would be…" Miranda prompted.

"Shooting our way out," I shrugged. "Just to try something new."

"There's nothing novel about that," she pointed out.

"We can light them up with plasma."

"Nor that."

"Biotics?"

"Still the same."

"We did take out four guards with the skycar," I finally tried.

Miranda thought about that one. "All right, I'll give you that much."

"You're so kind."

"I try."

"From three?"

"Sure."

I held up three fingers, silently counted down and pumped my fist at 'zero'. Miranda hit the closest bad guys with another EMP while I distracted the others with my appalling lack of fire discipline. **(15)** Then it was Miranda's turn to cover me while I turned the pair of thugs she'd attacked into human flambé.

Nine to go.

Realizing I was low on bullets, I ducked down. I quickly consulted my HUD before leaning out to the right and targeting the seven o'clock thug. Well, he used to be the seven o'clock thug. Now it was more like eleven o'clock, but you get the idea. Using up the last couple shots of my thermal clip, I managed to take him down.

Eight to go.

Then I pulled my head back, ejected the spent clip and slammed in a new one. That left me with one clip loaded and… one clip to spare. "Two clips left," I hissed to Miranda. "You?"

"Three."

A telltale glint caught my eye. "I'm going for more clips," I whispered, motioning to my right. "Cover me."

Miranda nodded before lifting up from a crouch and snapping off several shots, each scoring a direct hit despite the supposed randomness. I lunged out towards the two clips I'd spotted, grabbed them and somehow got back under cover intact and unharmed despite the ridiculously obvious target I'd just offered.

"Don't let them get away," the contact snapped. "Spread out and advance."

The bad guys immediately complied. Four of them moved forward to their right—our left—hugging the rear wall, moving towards a hallway at the back, which led to the kitchen, the bathrooms and, more importantly, the rear entrance. The contact and the remaining three guys went the other way.

I bit out a curse as I saw what they were doing. Realizing that their advantage in numbers was quickly dwindling, they decided to adopt a more aggressive tactic. One that would quickly cut off any escape route and allow them to close in on our position. Well, positions plural considering that Miranda and I were hiding behind different tables. But the bad guys still had enough manpower that they could afford to split up and advance. And they had enough firepower to keep us pinned down.

Miranda saw that too. "Any ideas, Carmichael? Besides Plan B?"

Even when under fire and facing impending capture and defeat, she had the presence of mind to maintain our—new—cover. Not everyone can be cool under pressure like that. Just another sign of how remarkable she was.

But I digress.

If I was alone, I could make use of my cloak. Six seconds wasn't much, but I could get a lot of mileage out of the resulting confusion and hesitation. But that would mean abandoning Miranda to the Cerberus contact and his cronies. Somehow, I didn't think they were going to be gentle and understanding to her, not after we'd killed ten of their guys. And I really didn't want to think about what TIMmy would do once he got his manicured hands on her. I looked around for an idea. Broken doors and windows with spider web-cracks? No, I think the cost of paying for all the damage wasn't going to dissuade them. Broken tables and broken chairs? Somehow, I didn't think those sticks were going to break any bones. **(16) **I continued my visual sweep, firing off random shots and ducking my head to avoid all the return fire.

Then I got an idea. Call it Plan B 2.0.

I lifted my arm to launch another fireball, only to have my aim spoiled by bullets ricocheting off my rapidly dwindling shields. My arm jerked, scorching the ceiling instead of some hapless thug and setting off one of the sprinklers. The contact and his buddies took the indoor precipitation in stride and kept advancing step by step, laying down a steady stream of cover fire. As for the group that was getting drenched, well, they didn't let a silly thing like being water-logged slow them down.

Which was too bad, considering they were moving past the range of the sprinkler I set off. I tried to slow them down with a couple gunshots of my own. Unfortunately for me, it's not that effective when you're outnumbered four to one and have to constantly stop and duck because your shields blinked out again. And you can't afford to sit and wait for your shields to recharge because you'll have eight trigger-happy goons breathing down your neck.

Oh the joys of being me.

Casting a quick glance at my omni-tool, I saw that another dose of hot, hot plasma was ready. I didn't even aim this time. Well, I did, but I made it look like I was blindly waving my arm around and firing off a snap shot. Turned another section of ceiling black. Set off another sprinkler. Lost my shields again. And…

"Damn it!"

"What?"

"Bullet tore my sleeve."

"Are you hurt?"

"Um…" On the pretense of checking my HUD for the location of the bad guys and my omni-tool to see whether I could play another round of pyromaniac, I checked my arm. "No," I said at last.

It was only the latest threat of impending doom that spared me from one of Miranda's withering stares. "We're taking heavy fire. We could get captured. And you're upset because your clothes got torn?"

"Hey! This is expensive stuff!" I protested. "I've never spent this much on clothes before!"

I'm sure Miranda was rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I know. I can't believe you haven't heard of those brands or those designers before."

"I could offer a perfectly reasonable explanation for that, but I think it's time for you to do your thing."

"How convenient."

"No, really, it's time."

"Not yet."

"Miranda…" I flinched as a stray bullet chipped the table. You know things are getting bad when your supposedly indestructible piece of cover starts falling apart.

"Wait for it…"

"While we're young? And alive?"

"_NOW!"_

Miranda finally fired a modified pulse from her omni-tool. One that was recalibrated to deliver nothing more or less than a raw burst of electrical voltage. One that was aimed at the four hapless thugs who were completely soaked, sloshing through a puddle of water and were still getting rained on from above.

Suffice it to say that any threat they might have posed abruptly disintegrated. Along with their shields. There was some twitching and shaking and jerking about too. Maybe some smoke.

Somehow, I resisted the urge to make a cheap joke involving the words 'shocking' or 'electrifying.' Or watch the free albeit morbid entertainment. Instead, I leaned out and opened fire at the remaining group of bad guys. The things I do to save my ass…

Of course, my shields drained in the blink of an eye—and after all that waiting and sweating I did to let them recharge in peace. But I managed to knock out another goon's shields, which meant my next fireball set his clothes—and skin and hair—on fire. Eleven down, seven to go.

Miranda helped a bit. Mostly she was preoccupied with keeping an eye on the quartet we'd just electrocuted and putting them out of their misery. Six bad guys remaining… five… four… three…

We'd basically evened the odds by this point. The contact and his surviving buddies knew that, judging by the way they suddenly dove for cover. Time to turn the tables, I thought. Miranda had the same idea. "Cover me?"

"Of course."

I emptied the rest of my thermal clip to keep them pinned down. That gave Miranda the freedom to stand up, get an optimal angle and fire another EMP to fry their shields. Before they had a chance to realize what had happened, I popped to my feet like a jack-in-a-box and set them on fire. **(17)**

After all that, wrapping things up was fairly anticlimactic. More pistol shots, only this time we had the luxury of waiting for the optimal shot without worrying about losing our shields, getting our clothes torn or suffering a premature death. Once all the bad guys were down and most of the plasma fires were put out, I headed over to the contact, meandering around debris and scooping up the odd thermal clip along the way.

Somehow, the contact was still alive. Barely.

His hair was more or less burned off. Along with one of his eyebrows. And his clothes were definitely singed. He sported some nasty burns too. And if the bio-readings from my omni-tool were any indication, he wasn't doing so well. "So," I said. "That went well, huh?"

He glared at me.

"Now then. Maybe we continue where we left off."

More glaring.

"You know," I prompted. "We met. We chatted. Now you hand us something."

"Not happening," he gasped. Seemed to be having trouble getting his words out.

"Fine," I sighed. "We'll have to grope around until we find it. Hope you don't mind."

"Grope all you like," the contact said. Whatever he was going to say next was drowned out in a fit of coughing. Once the hacking and wheezing subsided, he continued. "Don't have it."

"What do you mean," I frowned.

"I mean, I... didn't... didn't bring it with me," he wheezed, his face slowly turning blue. "I... I hid it. And I've... alerted Cerberus. By now, backup plan's... acti... activated. You'll... never... find it."

That was all he managed to force out before he started convulsing. Foam bubbled out of the side of his mouth. I reached forward to do... I dunno... do something. Bring him around. Miranda grabbed my arm. "He's gone, Shepard."

I checked my omni-tool. She was right. The contact's life-signs had flat-lined. He was gone. The mission was blown.

Now what?

* * *

_(__1): The average age of a skycar on Illium in 2185 was nine months._

_(2): A reference to the poem 'To a Mouse' by human poet Robert Burns, specifically the lines 'The best laid schemes of mice and men / Often go awry.' Shepard is explaining that no matter how carefully one plans an operation and attempts to address all possible contingencies—as he and the squad clearly did—unexpected developments inevitably arise that require adaptation._

_(3): I would tend to interpret this as a sign of Shepard's comfort around Miranda that he was willing to let down his guard to this extent._

_(4): A self-referential and perpetually repetitive children's song consisting of a single verse that naturally flows in a cyclical, infinite loop, written by the human writer/composer Norman Martin in 1988. Shepard knew that this was not what Miranda had intended. I believe this is an example of his usual coping mechanism: humour._

_(5): A method of outlining the position of others in relation to oneself, using archaic analog chronometers as a guide. Twelve o'clock would be directly in front, three o'clock would be to one's right, six o'clock would be directly behind you and nine o'clock would be to one's left. Readers should be aware that two complete rotations, or twenty-four hours, comprised a standard human day, before humanity adopted Galactic Standard Time._

_(6): Another example of humour, as the supposedly 'smart, sensible and sane' course of action he mentioned would actually increase the odds of getting him and Miranda killed._

_(7): This sign and countersign exchange was quite timely, as the Washington Hackers had just played against the Usaru Maestros. While the Hackers did lose, they set a new record for the longest game ever played in the history of biotiball._

_(8): A dish consisting of de-boned Earth birds—specifically a _tu_rkey, _du_ck and chic_ken_—which are stuffed inside each other. Contrary to what the name might suggest, the duck is actually stuffed inside the chicken, which in turn is stuffed inside the turkey. I should also note that Shepard found the very idea of the 'Hampyren' mildly disturbing, but only because he had a pet space hamster in his cabin. _

_(9): A modification on a quote from the 1977 human movie 'Star Wars,' which goes as follows: 'I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and was suddenly silenced.' Vid aficionados may be interested to know that, while this was the first Star Wars movie produced and released, it is the fourth movie in terms of chronology. I have been told, however, that true Star Wars fans consider the 'first three' movies—which formed a prequel trilogy—to be vastly inferior to the original trilogy, to the point where they'd rather pretend it never happened. _

_(10): One of several lists of suggestions, recommendations and actions for a competent villain—the aforementioned 'Evil Overlord' to avoid the mistakes and errors so frequently committed by super villains in human fictional works that they became well-known clichés. While the original lists were developed separately and independently during the early 1990s, they subsequently exchanged a great number of ideas until the two were effectively identical. _

_(11): A human saying to indicate that one continues to have problems or difficulties, despite the relative improvement of the situation. _

_(12): Most people, I'm sure, would beg to differ._

_(13): A human acronym for 'situation normal: all fucked up,' though it can be modified to 'all fouled up' or some similarly inoffensive phrase. Originating from the military, it suggests that the present state of affairs is bad but, sadly enough, there is nothing new or surprising about that. The term 'snafu' can also be used to describe a large and unexpected problem. In this case, however, Shepard clearly meant the former and original expression._

_(14): It took a lot of investigation, but I eventually found out that 'Charles Carmichael' was, in fact, a legend Shepard employed during some of his N7 missions. _

_(15): A military term meaning to fire the least amount of bullets required to accomplish your objective in order to avoid running out of ammunition at an inconvenient or potentially fatal time. _

_(16): An allusion to a human children's nursery rhyme that advises someone to avoid teasing or taunting, no matter how hurtful. One version, reportedly appearing in an 1862 issue of _The Christian Recorder_, goes as follows: _'Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.'_ Another version—_'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me'—_appeared in the 1872 collection of short stories _'Tappy's Chicks: and Other Links Between Nature and Human Nature,' _by Mrs. George Cupples. The phrase 'Sticks and stones' was subsequently used in songs, album titles, vid-show episode titles and even the occasional novel._

_(17): A human children's toy consisting of a box with a crank. When the crank is turned, the box plays a melody. At some point—usually, but not always, the end of the melody—the lid pops open and a figure pop out of the box._


	6. Damage Control

**Chapter 6: Damage Control**

The universe is pretty consistent when it comes to screwing up my life in an unrepentant and spectacularly disastrous manner.

It could be running into someone who wants me dead while I was simply minding my own business. Or some piece of intel that wound up being woefully inadequate. An otherwise simple assignment was spoiled by a party-crasher—human, batarian, geth, krogan... the list of people who wanted to turn my face into pate knew no cultural or species boundaries. And, inevitably, those people would have one or two or ten buddies who wanted in on the action.

Or—my personal favourite—I got hopelessly lost and missed my flight offworld, so I wound up stuck with all the other suckers when a bunch of rambunctious ruffians came to play. As a result, I had to join in on a wildly improvised comedy of errors that somehow stalled them long enough for Alliance reinforcements to arrive. Somehow, I wound up getting sole credit, along with numerous commendations, awards, parades and a certain god-awful statue erected in my so-called honour. All of which guaranteed that I would be volunteered for each and every suicide mission that came up. **(1)**

If I had a credit for every time things didn't go according to plan, I could probably fund the construction of another Alliance Fleet, fill the coffers of some random charity until it burst and still have enough for a disgustingly luxurious retirement. **(2)**

The only upside to this lousy excuse for a life is that you tend to develop ways of dealing with these kinds of disasters when—not if—they occur. Some people work harder and push their way through. Others try to work smarter, more efficiently. And then there are always those people who have a complete and utter meltdown—which can be understandable, even if it had a tendency of making matters worse.

Me? I complain to the universe. Nothing overt, mind you. Just a silent complaint to the universe that usually starts with "Why me? Why again? Why? WhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhyWHY?!" and ends with "Fine. I'll do it. Again. And I'll suffer. Again. And I'll add a few more broken bones, lacerations, puncture wounds and grey hairs to the list. You happy now? Huh?"

The universe has yet to respond. Too busy rolling amongst the stars and howling with laughter at my misery, no doubt. **(3)**

Having submitted my usual protest in the usual manner, which yielded the usual lack of response, I was free to move on and assess the situation. Bad guys dead—check. Contact dead—aw, crap. Cover blown—_crap_. Dead man switch engaged—or was it? **(4)** Maybe there was something I could do about that.

"Shepard?" Miranda asked, seeing how my fingers were flying over my omni-tool.

"Hang on," I said. "Little busy here."

I didn't elaborate, mostly because I needed to concentrate 100% on what I was doing. Besides, Miranda could probably figure out the rest: without any dedicated jamming equipment to prevent the contact's omni-tool from detecting his demise and activating whatever failsafe he'd put in place, I had to use my own omni-tool. That in itself wasn't a problem. Omni-tools are ubiquitous and standard-issue because they can do just about anything. Hacking into another omni-tool and fooling around with its digital innards was right up its alley.

Of course, there was the possibility, however remote, that the contact had a secondary dead man's switch tucked away somewhere on his body. But there was nothing I could do about that. Miranda on the other hand… "He might have a dead man's switch on him," I said. "I got his omni-tool."

"Understood," Miranda replied, immediately activating her own omni-tool and running a sensor sweep. Like I said: they can do virtually anything.

The seconds dragged out as we focused on our individual tasks. A minute passed… then two… then… "Done," I finally declared. Letting out a sigh of relief, I glanced at Miranda.

"No other transmitters or explosives detected," she reported, divining my unspoken question. "He didn't have any other electronic devices concealed on his person either. You?"

"Fooled his omni-tool into thinking he's still alive," I said.

"How?"

"Omni-tool dead man's switch protocols work in one of two ways," I explained. "They could use the bio-sensors to continuously monitor his life-signs. Or they could require him to enter some code or log into some program on a regular basis. Either way, its internal computer microframe waits for a set of conditions to be met. If they are, then it activates a prearranged command or series of commands. Deleting files. Sending out a signal. That sort of thing.

"But you have no idea what the conditions are or what might happen if they are met," Miranda stated.

"None whatsoever."

"Then what did you do?"

"I inserted a verification algorithm. Now whenever the conditions are met, the omni-tool will send a signal to verify that the conditions were truly met. If they are, it'll send the signal again. And again. And… well, you get the idea."

"You put it into an infinite loop," Miranda smiled.

"Yep," I said proudly. "The damn thing'll keep going and going and going until it's told otherwise. That'll give us plenty of time to study this thing and see what our good pal's been up to." I knelt down over the contact's body and removed his omni-tool. Or tried to, I should say. You always see people using omni-tools, but have you ever seen someone put it on? Or take it off? That's a rarity these days.

Doesn't help that every model's slightly different. Stupid companies and their stupid competition. Why would they use a more-or-less universal interface, but have the actual physical components vary so wildly? Does that make any sense to you?

But I digress. **(5) **

After a bit of struggle, I managed to remove the omni-tool. I also patted him down; just to make sure he wasn't lying and actually had hidden it in one of his pockets. Then I used my omni-tool to run a scan, just to make sure he hadn't swallowed the damn thing. Sadly, he was telling the truth.

Then I could focus on the other important stuff: shamelessly looting all those rapidly cooling bodies and scrounging for thermal clips. I left the restaurant safe alone, though. Figured the managers would need the credits inside—and probably a lot more—to repair this place. I will admit to entertaining the notion of leaving the credits I'd dug from all those criminals behind, but I had my own finances to consider: this mission had been a bit more expensive than usual.

I turned around in time to see two skycars land just outside the restaurant. Judging by Miranda's relaxed stance, I guessed that backup had arrived. My guess was confirmed when the door opened and Samara, Jack and Thane stepped out.

"Shepard. Miranda," Samara greeted us. "Our apologies for our late arrival. Traffic was…" she paused, stepped inside and looked around.

"Almost as bad as this establishment," Thane suggested with his usual calm demeanour.

"Damn it!" Jack swore. "I always miss the fun stuff."

* * *

I later found out that it was Garrus who sent Samara, Jack and Thane in two skycars, as a single skycar alone wouldn't have enough room for me and Miranda too. Thanks to his foresight, I didn't have to fly back to our base on top of the skycar, gripping the roof for dear life. Though I'm sure it would have provided a lot of entertainment for everyone else.

Most of the squad was waiting for us when we returned. Kasumi and Grunt hadn't returned from the Grand Mirage, as their cover was still intact. But everyone else was there. Even Mordin—he was just about to fly over and check in under his alias when news of our situation came in. After reassuring everyone that we were okay, I gave them a sitrep. **(6)**

The response was a mixed chorus of curses and other expressions of dismay. I waited for them to let it all out, figuring it was a good idea for them to vent and get it over with so we could focus on our next move. Thankfully, that didn't take too long. "Right," I said, getting everyone's attention. "That happened. We made it. Now we need to know whether there's anything we can salvage from this."

"Shepard's right," Miranda nodded. "We stopped the contact from triggering anything upon his demise. Now we need to determine whether there were any other backup plans that were put in place or activated prior to our meeting. Where he hid the package. The exact nature of the package. And so on."

"Tali, Legion; here's the contact's omni-tool," I said. "Crack the encryption, study its contents. I want to know everything."

"Right, Shepard."

"Understood, Shepard-Commander."

"Might be able to help too," Mordin offered. "No deadline to check in, after all. Have tricks in _my _omni-tool. Old gifts from STG. Outdated now. Still useful, though."

"Good idea," Garrus approved. "Shepard, you should pitch in too. After all the time you spent bypassing locks and hacking datapads, this should be a cinch."

I plead the Fifth. **(7)**

"We'll have Kasumi join you when she shows up," Garrus continued. "As for the rest of us, let's see what we can pack up. We may need to move or evac on a moment's notice." Plus, it would give them something to do. You can only stare at each other and play card games so many times before it gets boring, after all.

I waited a bit at first, just to make sure Miranda and Jack didn't try to kill each other. Then I joined Tali, Legion and Mordin in hacking the omni-tool. Never hacked with other, well, hackers before. Bit of a learning experience. See, usually I'm the only one doing the hacking. Sometimes, I'm alone. Lately, I've had an audience. A well-armed, often impatient and exasperated audience. One that shows an appalling degree of insubordination and lip to their commanding officer. I should have them court-martialed. Of course, there's the little nagging detail that they're all terrorists, ex-cons, psychos, civilians and just about anything but Alliance soldiers who would fall under the Alliance Code of Military Conduct. Come to think of it, I didn't fall under that category either. Not any more.

Oddly enough, that didn't bug me as much as it used to. **(8)**

But like I said, I was hacking with a team. It was… odd.

Legion kept cocking their head like they found something interesting. Their eye kept glowing and revolving around, like an ancient vid-cam zooming in and out. And they kept making chittering noises at random intervals. Sounded like streams of binary or something. Kinda weird.

Tali kept commenting on how she'd never done this before. How human code was so different from quarian code. And wasn't this really cool? It was like a mystery, the way you had to decipher it and carefully figure out what went where and what did what. And you could really tell how that code worked to make this part or that part hum along. And ooh look at _that_!

Mordin kept talking too. How this reminded him of the good old STG days. Pretending to be the butler. No 'butler did it' jokes, please. Trying to get close to so-called master. STG suspected him of funding anti-Citadel secessionists. Had to get secrets. Sneaking through the vents and evading the security systems to access his files—DUM, dum, dum, dum, DUM, dum. Very delicate work, hacking. Much like surgery. Only less blood. And fleshy bits. And bone fragments. Unless security tripped. And omni-tool exploded in our faces. Injuries from shrapnel… problematic. Da da de da da da de da da da de da de da da da.

So I had a geth who acted like, well, a geth. And a quarian all bubbly about her first time. And a salarian who kept interrupting fast-paced reminiscing about the past with random bouts of humming. Kinda distracting.

"Shepard-Commander!"

"Gah!"

"Sorry!"

"Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic."

"Problem?"

"No!"

"YES!"

"Not any more."

"Keelah, that was scary!"

"Shepard. Must focus. Daydream later."

Right. Focus. No getting distracted by colleagues and accidentally triggering security protocols. Got it. Oops.

I managed to screen out all the chatter and focus on the task at hand. It was actually more complicated than the usual encryption you find around doors and safes and datapads. More layers. More complicated. More booby traps. If I was working alone, it would definitely take more than a couple seconds. Or minutes. Might've even taken a couple days—before I tripped over something and wiped the whole damn thing clean. Or set off a self-destruct.

But the omni-tool had more to deal with than yours truly. It had a geth made up of nothing _but _software and code. And a quarian master hacker. And a salarian super spy. Didn't matter how many tricks Cerberus stuffed into that damn thing.

It didn't stand a chance.

* * *

We cracked it in the end. Found and disabled all the booby traps. No one wound up dead. Or thoroughly embarrassed. Nothing to do but go through all the files and data. And boy did it give us a motherlode of info.

By the time Kasumi and Grunt showed up, we were ready for a preliminary report. Seemed that they would've been here earlier, but they wanted to make sure their cover was intact. And what better way to do that than to go shopping. Apparently there were some really good sales going on. Miranda confirmed that, considering the quality of the fabric and the price she paid. Tali couldn't help but marvel over how light and open it was, and how the quarian fashion industry wasn't anywhere near as diverse. Samara made some polite noises to show interest, though she couldn't stop picking up various clothes and holding them up to the light. Jack turned up her nose and pretended not to care, but I couldn't help but notice her eyes kept drifting over to all the purchases. I just looked at the rest of the guys and shrugged in bewilderment. And grind my teeth over how much this was costing me.

After all the ooh-ing and aw-ing was over, we brought Kasumi and Grunt up to speed on all the shenanigans Miranda and I had endured. Then we had to pause for the obligatory teasing over all the fun Kasumi had missed. And pause again for all the grumbling over all the shooting Grunt had missed.

As luck would have it, that's when Jacob and Zaeed showed up. "Sorry we're late," Jacob apologized. "Our first day on the job had an unexpected twist."

Gee. Wonder what that was like?

"Parents lost their kid," Zaeed sighed. "Spent half the shift searching every goddamn floor before we found out she'd taken a nap inside the closet."

"At least we could put in for overtime," Jacob pointed out.

Zaeed shot him a sour look. "Like we'd be able to cash it in. We're undercover, remember?"

They went back and forth like that for a minute before I butted in. "Um. Guys? Gotta ask: you think your covers are still intact?"

Jacob looked at me blankly. "Yeah."

"No one suspects anything?" I pressed.

"Yeah," Zaeed nodded. "Why? What happened?"

"There's been a… development," Miranda admitted.

Jacob and Zaeed looked at each other. They recognized the tone in her voice and what it meant. "Um…" Jacob managed.

"Fuck," Zaeed spat.

"Yeah," I sighed, before quickly recapping what had happened. "The contact was right," I said. "He did arrive early. Vid-records from the starport security systems confirm his arrival. And the vid-cams from the Grand Mirage show him checking in earlier today."

"Do we know the name he used to check in?" Garrus asked. "Or his room? Maybe he stashed the package there."

"Yes, yes and no," Tali confirmed.

"Contact checked in as Julian Peyton," Mordin elaborated. "Room 1402. Sent something to vault before going to room."

That would be the secret vault that was hidden to all but a select few customers and the staff of the Grand Mirage. The one under guard. The one accessible by a secret elevator. The one that was actually part of a starship, complete with eezo core. The one that flew around in a giant secret underground chamber. The one we hadn't figured out how to break into because we had no need to until now. _That _vault.

"That could be a problem," Thane observed.

"Oh, it gets better," I told him. "We managed to confirm that 'Peyton' did, in fact, have a dead man's switch protocol and iron out what exactly would happen. First, his omni-tool would send out a distress signal. Then it would wipe itself clean."

"Makes sense," Garrus nodded. "That's what I would do. But it's the distress signal that worries me. Who was the intended recipient? And where is he? Or she? Even the best omni-tools can only send a signal so far."

"Unless it taps into something that can boost the signal or relay it to another receiver," Kasumi added.

"No need," I said gloomily. "Contact was kind enough to have a file detailing the contingency plan."

"That sounds sloppy," Miranda frowned. "Though I suppose it does match our observations of 'Peyton.' What was the contingency plan?"

"Alert the other Cerberus agent on site, who would contact his superiors offworld and arrange for alternate pickup," I replied.

"How do we know this isn't a setup," Jack wanted to know. "I mean, this guy just _happens _to spell everything out?"

"It does sound fishy," I agreed. "Which is why part of _our_ new plan involves breaking into his office and accessing his computers. If his files have similar contingencies in place that corroborate the contact's plans, then we might be onto something."

"You figured out who this other guy is?" Jacob asked.

"Yeah," Zaeed rasped. "Who is this big shot?"

I looked them in the eye. "Your boss."

"'Peyton,' or whatever his real name was, had been in contact with Conrad Trask?" Miranda asked. **(9)**

"Looks like," I said.

Naturally, Garrus was the one to ask the next question: "What do we know about Trask?"

I gestured to Legion, who'd done a quick extranet search and compiled the results with the data Liara had given us. "Conrad Trask. Birthdate: 2135, third month, seventeenth day. Birthplace: Morristown, New Jersey, Earth, Sol system. Went to..."

"You don't need to give us an exhaustive review, Legion," I hastily added. "Just a summary with the relevant details will suffice."

Legion did that head-tilt, eye-zoom thing. "Acknowledged. 2155: filed a patent for a new and improved omni-tool fabricator schematic. Used the resulting money to found several start-up companies and buy stocks in numerous other companies. 2159: included in top 30 list of richest and most successful humans under the age of 30. 2163: companies linked to Trask partnered with asari interests to fund construction of the Grand Mirage."

"Wait a second," Garrus leaned forward. "We knew that the Grand Mirage was built by human and asari companies twenty-two years ago. And now you're saying that the common denominator amongst all the human companies was that Trask had his fingers in them? How? And why are we only finding out now?"

"Trask either owned or was a shareholder in all the human companies," Tali replied, speaking up for the first time. "Liara's data did include that. We just didn't realize it was significant at the time." **(10)**

Miranda and I exchanged looks. "So a bunch of companies tied to Trask helped build the Grand Mirage," I said.

"The same Grand Mirage where we were supposed to meet our Cerberus contact Peyton," Miranda frowned.

"The same Peyton whose protocols listTrask as his emergency contact should things go wrong," I said grimly.

"The connections between Trask, the Mirage and Cerberus are proving to be rather suspicious." Miranda's voice was equally dark.

"And let's not forget the fact that the Mirage has way more human staff than you'd expect," Garrus added. **(11)** "That makes a lot more sense now."

"Which makes breaking into Trask's office and finding out what he does or doesn't know even more important," I frowned. "Jacob, Zaeed; I know you've only been working for a day, but what's his schedule like? How often does he leave his office?"

"Dunno, not often," Zaeed said, answering my questions in order.

"From what the other guys said, Trask is a bit of a workaholic," Jacob elaborated. "Gets up early, has breakfast sent to his office—which is also his suite, by the way. Home office sorta thing. Anyway, Trask works straight 'til lunch, which is also sent to his office suite. Sometimes he has a business lunch, but even that is usually at his office."

"Trying to make the most efficient use of his time?" Tali suggested. "Eating and working simultaneously without losing any time in leaving the office, finding a restaurant, ordering, eating and returning to work?"

"Assertion of power," Miranda disagreed. "Having people come to his establishment, where he's the ultimate boss and everyone ultimately takes orders from him, instead of a more neutral establishment."

"Oh."

"Don't get that sort of jockeying in the Flotilla?" I asked.

"Actually, we do," she said after a moment. "But it's usually the captains and admirals who do that. The rest of us do it to maximize productivity and socialize. It's not as if it takes a lot of time to squeeze processed food paste through suit filters, after all."

She said it so matter-of-factly. Of course, if that's all you knew, then of course you'd sound so nonchalant. But still, anyone who could endure a lifetime of _that _without going crazy... I could tell I wasn't the only one whose estimation of Tali rose a couple notches. A collective shudder rippled throughout the room.

"Anyway, the first time Trask leaves his fancy digs and mucks around with the working stiffs is about 1300," Zaeed rasped. "Comes down where Nicholas 'What's-his-name' Milbarge, Manager of Casino Operations and God's gift to the galaxy is waiting for him."

"'Whats-his-name'?" I repeated.

"Guy never seems to know the names of his staff," Jacob explained. "It's not just new guys like me and Zaeed. Even the old-timers get the same treatment. Scuttlebutt's 50-50 on whether he thinks he's too important for 'little' details like that or he just can't be bothered to learn a couple names."

"Some things never change," Miranda muttered under her breath. Sounded like she'd encountered men like 'What's-his-name' before. I gathered that she didn't intend for anyone else to hear, so I let it go. "So what do Trask and Milbarge talk about?"

"How things are going, if everything's running smoothly—and if they're not, what's been done about it—any high-rollers that just came in, any cheaters that tried to pull any scams," Zaeed replied. "Basic sitrep, really. They do a tour of the floors too, so Trask can chat with any big clients while Little Nicky gets to strut around with the big man in front of all the staff and vid-cams.

"After an hour or so, Trask goes back to his office. Little Nicky spends the next three hours on cloud fucking nine going on and on and on and _on _about how he got to talk one-on-one with the boss and how no one else gets that privilege and how important that makes him. Talks the ear off any bloke who ain't smart enough to make himself scarce. Only one day on the job and already I wanna throttle his scrawny little neck."

He really did, judging by the way his jaw was clenched. I made a mental note to ask Miranda if she could hear him grinding his teeth. "So the first time he leaves his office suite is at 1300 and he's back at 1400."

"More or less," Jacob confirmed. "Sometimes he starts his sitrep a couple minutes late. And I got the sense that his return at 1400 is more of an average than a hard-and-fast rule. But once he's back, he stays in his office and works until dinner—which he has at one of the Mirage's restaurants. 1710 on the dot, no matter which restaurant he goes to—the guys I worked with were pretty clear on that point."

"1710," I said thoughtfully. "That means he probably leaves his office at 1700. How long does he have dinner?"

"Hour and a half, sometimes close to two hours," Jacob replied.

"Then he goes back to do some more work," Zaeed finished. "And sleep, of course."

"And he maintains this schedule every day," Miranda pressed.

"Yep," Zaeed nodded.

"So we have two windows of opportunity to break in," I concluded. "The question is how. Kasumi, have you checked out the security to his office?"

"Yep," she nodded. "After I checked in."

"Which time was that?" I asked, indulging my usual incessant curiosity.

"Fifth."

"You managed to hold out that long? I'm impressed."

"Well, I would've done it earlier, but there were a lot of other rooms to break into," Kasumi shrugged. "Besides, there were so many sales on. I had to check them out. Some of them were even reasonable—by galactic standards, not Illium standards. There was this one store that was selling blouses for—"

"Kasumi," I interrupted.

"Yeah, Shep?"

"Trask. Office. Security."

"Oh. That," she said airily. "Basic kinetic barrier. Easy to take down if you have the keycard. Though you still have to get past the password-protected voice lock, palm print and DNA scanner."

"Which you can do," I stated.

"Last two are easy—the guy's got greasy hands and he sweats a lot."

Good. And ew.

"As for the voice lock, he's done enough ads to give me an adequate sample."

"How about the password?"

"That could take a little more time," Kasumi admitted.

"Okay, we can tackle that later," I said. "What about the keycard? Pick his pocket?"

"Or scan it," Garrus suggested.

"The casino's electronic surveillance would detect that," Tali pointed out.

"Not if we keep it localized and low-intensity," Garrus disagreed.

"Short range," Mordin mused. "One metre or less ideal."

"So you get up close, scan him to copy the keycard and send the data to Kasumi," Grunt, well, grunted. "How about the password?"

"Probably in the security booth," Jack offered. "Unless Trask is stupid enough to copy it onto his omni-tool or something."

"I wonder if that's even necessary," Thane said. "Surely there is some way to fool his office security into thinking someone has spoken the password when it actually accessed its own records instead."

"If so, perhaps you could use that same method to bypass all of the safeguards," Samara suggested.

"I was just going to go through the vents. It seemed simpler."

We looked at Kasumi.

"Would've spoken up earlier, but it was fun listening to you guys brainstorm about how to break into the boss's office instead of how to shoot up a base or something," she said. "But I did think about that as well. And as much fun as it might be to figure out how to crack the front door, it's a lot easier to go in through the vents. No one thinks of going through the vents."

"No one?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, that's not true," Kasumi amended. "Everyone figures that the vents are an option. Everyone also figures out that it's easy to close off the vents as a weak spot once you install hatches, pressure sensors, bio-sensors and even the old-school laser tripwires. Oh yeah, and add countermeasures like more hatches, kinetic barriers, gas nozzles, more kinetic barriers, the occasional flamethrower. Maybe razor blades flash-forged from mini-fabricators built into the ventilation shafts."

Now we were looking at Kasumi in stunned silence. "And that's 'simpler'?" I asked.

"Well, yeah. Of course."

Of course.

"All right. You'll get into Trask's office through the vents," Miranda said, getting back to business. "Where will you enter the vents? Through the access hatch in your suite?"

"It seemed easier," Kasumi nodded. "And more private."

"You'll sweep your room for bugs first," I said, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question. I figured she probably would have, but I did have to bring it up. She seemed to understand, judging by the fact that she gave a simple nod instead of tearing me a new one for acting as if she was an amateur out on her first job.

"We have a query," Legion stated. I'm pretty sure he didn't mean to imitate me. "Do you know how long it will take to navigate the ventilation systems, identify and disarm any safeguards and access the office?"

"Not exactly," Kasumi admitted. "I can probably do it in half an hour, but I'm not sure."

"Then you should probably leave sometime between 1225 and 1250," I said.

"Aim to get there at 1300," Miranda added.

"That way, even if Trask leaves late and returns early—" I continued.

"—you'll still have approximately ninety minutes to search his office." Miranda finished.

"Because the data we're looking for—"

"—might not be on the computer that's sitting on his desk."

"And if you need more time—"

"—you can always try again when he goes for dinner."

Kasumi looked at Garrus. "You know, I've pulled a lot of jobs with a lot of crews. None of them have ever talked like those two."

"Same with all my squadmates during my military service in the Hierarchy, my partners in C-Sec or even my band of misfits on Omega," Garrus agreed.

And I've never put up with a squad that gave me so much attitude. Mostly because I was the one dishing it out. "All right," I said aloud. "Let's get to work."

"Yeah," Jack grinned. "Before the lovebirds do it again."

Miranda glared. Jack's grin grew wider. I tried to stifle a groan.

Somehow, I don't think I was that successful.

* * *

We had to wait until the following day. We'd missed both windows of opportunity by that point and it didn't seem worth the risk to have Kasumi try breaking in while Trask was snoozing in the next room. Though she did volunteer—citing it wouldn't be the first time and it would be a fun challenge. That sounded perilously close to a surprise. Personally, I'd had my fill of fun challenges for the time being. And I'd long since passed the stage where I enjoyed surprises. Well, the surprises that were sprung on me. I have no problem giving _other _people surprises.

I know, I know: I'm kinda hypocritical that way.

It was decided that Kasumi, Grunt, Mordin, Jacob and Zaeed could go back to the Mirage. Kasumi because we needed her to break into Trask's office. Grunt because he was posing as Bokk, the long-suffering bodyguard for the spoiled celebutante brat that Kasumi was pretending to be, and because Kasumi might need some brute-force muscle if anything went wrong. Mordin because his cover was still intact and in case Kasumi needed some backup of the technical—and delicate—variety. As for Jacob and Zaeed, it might be nice to have some backup that was embedded with the Mirage's security. Besides, their next shift was about to start.

Miranda and I, however, would stay behind. We had no way of knowing how badly our cover had been compromised, after all. Willingly walking—or flying, as the case might be—into a probable trap was one thing. Doing it twice…

…well, sadly, that was par for the course as far as I was concerned. You'd think that I would've learned by now. Better late than never, I suppose. My point was, until we knew otherwise, it was safer to assume that Peyton gave Trask the heads-up before his meeting went so thoroughly pear-shaped and we would face a very hostile and unfriendly response if we tried to saunter through the front door. Or the back door, side door, windows and so on.

At least we wouldn't be sitting by idly or getting bored out of our minds. Thanks to the constant and persistent efforts of Legion and Tali, we had successfully established two-way communication that was both encrypted and (mostly) undetectable. **(12)** We'd be able to stay in contact during the entire operation.

Speaking of which… I reached over and opened the comm. "Kasumi? How's it going?"

Silence. That wasn't good. She couldn't be ignoring me out of spite. It had been almost ten minutes since the last check-in. "Kasumi? You there?"

More silence. I exchanged an uneasy look with Miranda. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"Me too," Miranda nodded.

"Likewise," Garrus agreed.

The silence dragged on and on until…

"_Sorry about the delay," _Kasumi finally reported in. _"Ran into a cluster of security sensors. One of them measured ambient noise and volume. Couldn't risk setting it off by telling you to wait."_

"Got it," I replied. "Other than that?"

"_I'm about halfway there."_

I checked my chronometer. Twelve minutes to go. "Don't feel you have to rush or anything. I know we wanted you to be in place by 1300, but that's more a guideline than a deadline."

"_Yeah, but I think I can still make it there by then. Got a sense of where and how they place their sensors and traps now. My progress should be faster from here on out. Kasumi out."_

"I knew everything was fine," I said nonchalantly.

"Me too," Miranda nodded.

"Likewise," Garrus agreed.

The next few minutes passed by very, very slowly. Guess we wound up twiddling our thumbs after all. **(13)** Garrus, Thane, Legion and I got into a lengthy discussion about sniper rifles. Apparently Garrus and Thane didn't hold the Widows in high regard because they were too heavy, used up an entire thermal slip per shot and broke your bones if you weren't synthetic like Legion or augmented like yours truly. They preferred the Incisors. We did agree, however, that we missed the good ol' days when you could add a couple mods to personalize your long-range dispenser of high-velocity death.

Tali entertained herself by taking apart a shotgun and a flamethrower, just to see how feasible it would be to merge the two together. We gave her a wide berth. Except for Samara, who was meditating right next to her. I wasn't sure whether that was brave or stupid of her. Miranda and Jack glared at each other, had spats about appreciating or not appreciating good quality clothes, glared some more, made disparaging remarks about each other's bodies, glared some more, made a series of claims and boasts regarding feats of biotics and, just for the hell of it, glared some more.

I checked the chronometer again. Three minutes to 1300. Wow. Amazing how time just flew by. I activated the comm again. "Kasumi?"

"_According to these schematics, I'm five floors away from Trask's office."_

"Understood." I switched comm channels to the one assigned to Jacob and Zaeed. Rather than opening my big mouth, I settled for a simple ping. If they were free to talk, they'd open a channel. If not, then whatever conversation they were part of or eavesdropping on wouldn't be interrupted by my yammering.

Apparently they weren't engaged in scuttlebutt, because Jacob called back almost immediately. _"Hello?"_

"Our friend is about five floors out from the office. Has Nicky's buddy shown up yet?"

I should explain.

Calling Kasumi by her given name was one thing—her status as the best damn thief in the galaxy wasn't public record, as she had mentioned when we first met. Besides, she was all alone in the ventilation shafts. Jacob and Zaeed, on the other hand, were on the floors of a casino, surrounded by hundreds of sapients. All it would take was one sharp-eared busybody to eavesdrop on our conversation and the whole caper might fall apart. So we had to settle for vague generalities and descriptions when talking to them.

"_Not yet. Little Nicky keeps checking his chronometer and asking if… Yes, Mr. Milbarge?"_

There was some muttering in the background. I started to turn up the volume.

"_Yes we are keeping a close eye on the clientele. Yes, everything's under control. No, no one has been caught cheating. Yes, we're watching out for cheaters. No, no one's touched the metal railings since they were polished. Yes…"_

On second thought, maybe I didn't need to know both sides of what sounded like an increasingly banal and ridiculous conversation. I'd heard enough to know that Trask hadn't come down yet, but he probably would at any minute. When he did, Jacob or Zaeed would point him out to Little Nicky, which would indirectly inform us of his arrival.

"_Mr. Milbarge? I think… yes, Mr. Trask is here."_

Trask had started early. I switched back to Kasumi's comm channel. "Kasumi? Trask has started his daily rounds. What's your status?"

"_Just got to his office. Disabling the last security system to the ventilation access hatch… done."_ She paused. _"OK, no vid-cams that I can see or detect. Makes sense: you don't want all your secret business transactions and skimming to private accounts recorded. No pressure sensors on the floor to go off whenever you leave your desk for another glass of brandy or whisky or—_ugh—_ryncol. Ooh, there's something… and another… okay, we have a network of sensor nodes scattered throughout the room. Looks like your basic bio-sensor panel."_

"Probably set to go off if anyone other than Trask enters without prior authorization," I surmised.

"Or if Trask has a medical emergency and is unable to summon assistance," Miranda pointed out.

"Good point," I conceded. "Kasumi, can you disable it on your own?"

"Creator Tali'Zorah and this platform are prepared to render assistance," Legion declared.

"_I've got it," _Kasumi assured us. _"Just give me a second… okay. Network disabled. Going in."_

Here we go…

"_I'm at his computer… accessing… yeah, yeah: 'security breach detected.' Wait for it: security alarms disabled. Same with the firewalls. Damn, I'm good. OK, let's see what we have here…"_

Part of me wondered if she always talked out loud. Part of me wondered if I would do the same in her shoes.

"_Daily reports… monthly reports… quarterly reports… annual reports—okay, bored now, moving on. Let's see here. Lots of e-mails about casino operations, shipping manifests, way too much spam for my liking… all what you'd expect from a casino. No folder marked 'DIABOLICAL CERBERUS PLOTS OF GALACTIC DOMINATION FOR TERRORIST EYES ONLY.'"_

Shocker. Real shocker.

"As if that would ever happen," Miranda muttered. She saw us looking at her. "What? I'll admit Cerberus is many things, but cheesy and melodramatic? I don't think so." **(14)**

"Fair enough," I relented.

"_All right, let's see if there are any ghost drives or shadow partitions… searching… searching… man, this is the part that really sucks… ooh!"_

I liked the sound of that.

"_What do we have here?"_

Promising.

"_Okay guys, this might be it. Uploading to you guys now."_

"Connection good," Tali confirmed. "And… yes, we are receiving data."

"_Good. I'm sending the entire contents of the ghost drive your way, along with anything else that was accessed in the last three months," _Kasumi told us. _"If there's anything hinky going on, that should cover it. Meanwhile, I'll poke through the rest of his office; see if there's anything interesting."_

"Understood," I replied. Leaving the comm channel to Kasumi open, I opened another to see how Jacob and Zaeed were doing.

"_Mr. Trask? This is a surprise," _I heard Jacob say. _"Heading back to the office already?"_

"Did he say…?" Garrus started.

"It did sound like it," Miranda confirmed, a note of alarm flashing across her face.

Aw, crap.

* * *

_(__1): This last example refers to the Skyllian Blitz of 2176, in which a large force of pirates, slavers and batarian warlords attacked the human colony of Elysium. The main motivators for this attack include the Batarian Hegemony's desire to retaliate against humanity's expansion into the Skyllian Verge—a region of space that they regarded as their territory—a result of the Alliance's aggressive and successful pirate suppression campaigns, and the ambitions of pirate Elanos Haliat, who sought to use the resulting prestige from the Blitz to cement his authority and reputation throughout the Terminus Systems. While history does acknowledge the participation of Alliance marines on leave, Elysium civilians and responding Alliance ships, it also emphasizes Shepard's contributions in rallying said marines and civilians to defend Elysium and singlehandedly holding back the enemy when they broke through Elysium's defences._

_(2): While Shepard is clearly exaggerating, he did have a more eventful career compared to the average sapient. _

_(3): Shepard had a habit of anthropomorphizing the universe as an entity that took great pleasure in his suffering._

_(4): A human term originally referring to a physical switch that automatically engages or activates in the event that the operator becomes incapacitated, usually by breaking or completing a circuit. The concept was later expanded to include software and computer data. _

_(5): Indeed. Though I will admit that Shepard raised several valid points. _

_(6): Alliance shorthand for 'situation report'. _

_(7): A reference to the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution, the supreme law of the United States of America, which guards against the risk of self-incrimination and its repercussions. I warn readers from confusing the United States with the United North American States. The former was one of three nations—the other two being Canada and Mexico—which merged in 2096 to form the latter. _

_(8): While Shepard was nothing if not pragmatic and adaptable, he did confess to feeling uncomfortable and at a loss. Being connected to the Alliance, even in the tenuous, semi-official capacity that came with being a Spectre, clearly meant more than he realized._

_(9): One of the original founders of the Grand Mirage, as well as Chief Executive Officer in 2185. I realize this may seem obvious to readers, but Shepard hadn't dropped his name in his personal logs until this point._

_(10): At the time, I dismissed that as a mere coincidence. I should have realized that the chances of a 'mere coincidence' being a genuine confluence of random variables were exceedingly slim. The fault for relaying such incomplete intelligence lies with me and me alone. _

_(11): The majority of staff employed by businesses on Illium in 2185 were asari—ranging from 59 to 74 percent—with the remainder consisting of a fairly even distribution of other species. By contrast, the Grand Mirage staff was anywhere from 84 to 88 percent human._

_(12): Tali later admitted that she and Legion had managed to do that within the first day of their arrival. They only needed another day or so to verify that they hadn't been caught. As to why it took so long to announce their success, she said it was an old engineering trick to exaggerate the amount of time required to complete a task._

_(13): A human activity where one interlocks the fingers of both hands and moves his or her thumbs around a set point. Despite the manual dexterity involved, it is generally regarded as a waste of time that is usually reserved for individuals that are bored, lazy or trying to pass the time._

_(14): I would suggest that the Illusive Man's office was melodramatic in the way it cast his figure as a silhouette against the backdrop of a dying star, but perhaps it is a matter of personal perspective._


	7. Rules of the Game

**Chapter 7: Rules of the Game**

We'd originally planned to have Kasumi casually poke around the office of the Grand Mirage's CEO for about an hour. That hour had just shrunk to a matter of minutes. And all because Conrad Trask forgot something. Miranda was already turning up the volume, so we could hear his reply. _"Not quite. Forgot to transfer some files to my omni-tool. Just have to pop back to the office." _

"Kasumi?" I said urgently. "Trask is heading back to the office right now."

"_You're joking, right?"_

"Would I joke about something like this?" I asked. "He claims he forgot some files. Where are we on the upload?"

"27% complete, Shepard-Commander," Legion replied.

Good grief. Was there really that much crap in his files, or did the man simply not know of little things like compression algorithms and regular defrag cycles? "Any chance we can get to a hundred percent before Trask returns?" I asked.

"Given the current upload rate, the strength of the connection—"

"Yes or no, Legion," Miranda interrupted.

"No."

Aw, crap. "Mordin, can you stall them?"

"_On it. Uh, I say, excuse me. I'm sorry but I need to ask. I just checked in, you see—"_

"_Yes, welcome to the Grand Mirage," _some nameless guy said, trotting out the standard greeting line.

"—_well. Yes. Thank you," _Mordin replied_. "Anyway, I have a question. About your food, you see."_

"_Is there a problem with it?"_

"_I hope not. I'm allergic, you see. To nuts, you see. I need to know your food won't kill me before the Skyllian Five Poker Tournament next month. I really need to win it, you see." _

"_Um… okay, look—"_

"_Stupid lousy pedigree charts. Stupid reproduction negotiator who stole our money only to do a half-assed job. Now even if we can continue the bloodline, we won't be able to feed the next generation because we're out of credits!" _**(1)**

"_I understand—"_

"_Do you? Do you, really? Can you comprehend how stressful it is? It's easy for you. All you need is a female with the appropriate facial and body structure—and even that can be skewed by alcohol or pharmaceuticals. The whole thing could start and end in a matter of hours. But it's different for my people. We have to carefully calculate and extrapolate every scenario. The future of our clan depends on it!"_

As fascinating as the complexities of salarian reproduction negotiations were, I had other concerns. "Where are we on the upload?"

"46%," Tali replied.

By this point, knowing which comm channel was for whom was more or less committed to memory. "Kasumi, have you found any other data caches?"

"_Not yet. Mostly expensive furniture, artwork that looks expensive but is probably overpriced, and expensive liquor—well, except for some of the wine. _That's _probably for the sole purpose of getting wasted. I'd go into more detail, but we don't have—hang on."_

"Kasumi?" I prompted.

"_Found a safe. Well, a second safe—I found another one earlier, but all it had were a couple stacks of credit chits. As tempting as it was to swipe it, we are trying to get in and out without leaving a trace. Let's see what this one has…"_

I saw Miranda was listening in on Mordin's channel. Giving her a gentle nudge, I pointed to the comm and raised an eyebrow.

"Mother always liked his brother more just because he hatched three point one four seconds earlier, an illogical and unfair injustice that's been perpetuated throughout his life," Miranda summarized. "It's quite the performance, but I think Trask and his colleagues are losing patience… yes, it sounds like Trask is trying to assign one of his employees to deal with Mordin so the rest of them can move on."

Honestly, I was surprised they didn't do that sooner. Chalk one up to Mordin's acting chops, I guess. "Kasumi, Mordin's been stalling, but it looks like it won't last much longer. Anything in the second safe?"

"_Just a couple datapads and a Carnifex heavy pistol. Just finished copying the former to my omni-tool, obviously left the latter behind. How's the download coming along?"_

"61% complete," Legion reported.

"Mordin's been sidelined," Miranda announced. "Trask is on the move."

"Okay, we need a new plan."

"_Not a problem, Shep. Rigged a couple slot machines last night just in case something like this happened." _

"Great," I sighed. "How do we set them off?"

"_Check your omni-tool."_

"Come again?"

"_I uploaded the protocols to your omni-tool before I left."_

One of these days, I was going to have to sit her down and explain how it was completely unacceptable for her to do that sort of thing. At least, not without explaining how she pulled it off. **(2)** "Let me see…" I activated my omni-tool and started looking around. Thankfully, Kasumi hadn't hidden it under some nondescript file name in an obscure folder tucked in a subdirectory. I pulled up the program marked 'Everyone's a Winner!' and got it running.

I switched to the comm channel Jacob and Zaeed were using and listened. Nothing happened at first. Then I heard a lot of oddly cheerful chimes and alarms go off and a sudden surge in muffled and confused conversation. I strained my ears before turning up the volume, but all I could hear was _"…what's happ-… holy crap… Payday… no, no, no this is all… God doesn't hate me after all!"_ If I was going to satisfy my curiosity, I would have to go about it some other way. "Tali, Legion; we have access to the vid-cam feeds, right?"

In response, Tali tapped a few keys. A monitor sprang to life, showing some of the slot machines on the ground floor of the Grand Mirage. Two of them were spitting out credits—in various denominations—like an assault rifle spat out bullets. Judging by the customers that were rolling on the floor in pain, hands clasped to their heads or arms or other body parts, it appeared that the slot machines were almost as damaging as actual weapons. Not that that dissuaded several other customers from scrambling over and trying to scoop up as many credits as possible. Trask and the employees around him had stopped to stare at the commotion. I surmised that the guy who had a tacky-looking vest, a receding hair line, and whose face was rapidly turning white was Nicholas 'Little Nicky' 'What's-his-name' Milbarge.

It was kinda amusing to watch Milbarge gape, look around helplessly, freeze whenever Trask entered his peripheral vision, jerk his head away and then start from the beginning. He must've done the whole cycle three or four times before finally getting a grip.

As we watched, Milbarge started snapping his fingers, pointing to various personnel and giving orders. You could tell something about the amount of respect he had by the way the employees paused and looked at each other before obeying. But they did follow through. Cordoning off the area to prevent any more customers from trying to cash in on an unexpected windfall. Patiently explaining to the customers who had tried to help themselves that this was an unexpected fluke and that, unfortunately, they would have to return the credits that had come out of the hacked slot machines. Patiently explaining, then explaining again, then subtly signaling for security to close in on the few customers who inevitably refused to part with a single unearned credit chit.

I glanced over at the progress meter. The upload was 85% complete. That was good.

On the other hand, the vid-cams that Tali and Legion had accessed showed Trask heading towards the elevator. That was not good. He was about twenty steps away… fifteen steps… ten steps… eight steps… there must be something else we could do to slow him down... five steps…

87%.

Three… two… one… Trask stepped into the elevator. There was a pause as he verbally ordered the car to go to this office. Then the door closed.

The upload was 88% complete. "Tali, Legion; will the upload be done by the time Trask gets to his office?"

"No," Tali replied. "We'll be 99% complete by that point."

"Technically, the upload will be 98.79% complete, Shepard-Commander."

That was fine by my standards, but I'd like to do better. If nothing else, that would mean a full one percent remaining and Kasumi stuck in the office when Trask strolled in. "Can you slow the elevator speed down?" I suggested. "Even if it's an extra second or two to pass each floor."

Legion considered that. "We could reduce the elevator velocity by 0.1 metres per minute. Trask would not notice such a delay."

Tali immediately started typing away, no doubt seizing the initiative to get started while Legion was occupied. "How much time would Kasumi have, once the delay is implemented?"

"One minute, seventeen seconds," Legion replied. Then they joined Tali in madly hacking away.

"Do it," I ordered, simultaneously opening Kasumi's comm channel. "Kasumi; Trask is heading up in the elevator. Legion and Tali are buying you a bit more time. Once the upload's complete, you'll have about a minute to get out of the office."

"_That's plenty of time. Do me a favour and thank everyone for me."_

"Will do," I replied.

Sure enough, Trask was still heading skyward in the elevator when the progress meter on the upload reached 100%. That gave Kasumi plenty of time to confirm she didn't leave anything behind, get back into the ventilation shaft and close the access hatch.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

About a minute later, Kasumi contacted me again. _"Shepard?" _she hissed over the comm.

"Still here," I confirmed. "What happened?"

"_Trask just left. He walked in, went to his computer, copied some files to his omni-tool and walked out."_

"Any sign that he was doing anything else?"

"_Not from where I was hiding. Looked like he really did forget some files."_

Or he did a very good job of hiding his suspicions. On the other hand, maybe the universe was finally throwing me a bone. **(3)** "Hey Kasumi, can you do one more thing before you leave?"

"_By leave; you mean squirm my way down the shaft, past all the alarms and hazards and back to the suite to torment Grunt?"_

"Yes, though I'm sure Grunt won't mind if you skip the last part."

"_Awwww… OK, seriously, whaddya want me to do?" _

"Can you sneak some sort of subvirt or backdoor onto Trask's computer so we can monitor what he's doing?"

"_Pfft."_

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Now I know you got to dazzle us with your thieving skills, but please don't get carried away."

"_Spoilsport. Kasumi out."_

With that out of the way, it was time to see what Kasumi had sent us.

I'll be honest. I expected the other shoe to drop at that point. **(4)** A malicious virus embedded in the files that chose that moment to pop up and ruin our day. The unwelcome discovery that the package had already been delivered to TIMmy and all our scrambling was for naught. The premature arrival of the Reapers. **(5)** Something like that.

But none of that happened. The files were safe. The package was still waiting in the vault of the Grand Mirage. And no unexpected or unwelcome guests materialized out of nowhere.

Weird.

It didn't take long before I got a sense of Trask's relationship with Cerberus. While we couldn't determine how long he'd been working for them, it was pretty obvious that it was longer than three months. For all intents and purposes, Cerberus appeared to be a silent partner and stockholder of the Grand Mirage. Every few weeks, Cerberus got a portion of the Mirage's profits, routed through various dummy accounts and so on. They got business reports on the last day of every month just like all the other shareholders, with the exception that their reports were bounced around through a couple dozen e-mail addresses. If it wasn't for the fact that Trask went out of his way to make the electronic paper trail as confusing and convoluted as possible, it would be pretty ordinary.

What really stood out were the e-mails that weren't sent out on a regular schedule. Observations on some notable figure—public, military, civilian—who happened to pass through. Notes on some local development or announcement that might warrant further investigation. Updates on any local law enforcement activities. Confirmation that the Mirage had received a shipment or package like the one we were trying to get our hands on. More and more, it looked like the Grand Mirage was a front, source of funding, listening post and safe house for Cerberus. A foothold on alien soil. Part of me had to admire the elegance behind it all.

More importantly, the mission wasn't a bust—and the cover identities Miranda and I had checked in under appeared to be intact. Trask had noted that our contact arrived a few days earlier than expected, but that was it. If he was aware of any problems, he hadn't voiced his concerns or suspicions in any messages or personal memos.

And the best news of all: Trask was indeed the person Peyton was supposed to contact if the exchange fell through for any reason. And Trask had several contingencies pre-arranged and set up, so he could arrange an alternate pick-up that was custom-tailored to the situation at hand—all of which were detailed for our reading pleasure.

I summarized my findings to the rest of the squad. Miranda was the first to respond. "Not completely unexpected," she said. "This would fall in line with standard compartmentalization of information."

"Besides, if Peyton kept it to himself, then he'd get sole credit for capturing us and bringing us in," I added.

"And I'm sure he'd talk about it ad nauseum," Miranda muttered.

"So what's our next move?" Garrus wanted to know.

"We're going to let Trask know that the shit's hit the fan and Cerberus needs to send another errand boy," I replied. "Or two or three or whatever."

"You have just told us that Trask has multiple contingencies," Thane reminded me. "It will be difficult to anticipate and prepare for all of them."

"Which is why we're going to set the stage so that there's only one possible contingency that Trask will want to use," I said.

"And you have a plan, I presume," Samara said.

"Yep," I nodded. "First, we have to upload another couple months from Trask's computer—which we'll be able to do provided that Kasumi succeeded. Second, we're going to need some hard currency. Tali, Legion; I need you to funnel the necessary funds through multiple accounts before we can withdraw any credits."

"Understood, Shepard-Commander," Legion stated.

Tali had a question, though: "Shepard, how many credits are we talking about here? And where are we going to get it?"

"We're talking about a lot," I replied. "You'll see how much when I show you the account. And don't worry: this time we can afford it without detouring to complete any lucrative assignments."

"Or dispensing justice in an unjust galaxy full of scum and villainy?"

We stared at Garrus.

"I… might've downloaded a few vids before coming here."

…

"It was something to pass the time."

…

"Um… oh look! There's a random crate over there that needs digging through for… stuff."

* * *

I let Garrus flail around for a couple seconds before bailing him out. We hapless suckers have to stick together, after all.

Once the chuckles and teasing subsided, Tali and Legion buckled down for some online financial mischief while I divvied out assignments. Miranda and Samara would stay at the warehouse to handle C2 stuff and make sure no one tried to get the jump on our resident hackers while they were distracted. **(6)** Garrus and Jack went out to check out a few locations that had come up in one or two of Trask's private e-mails to his Cerberus handlers. Kasumi, Grunt, Mordin, Jacob and Zaeed were told to stay put and maintain their various cover identities.

That left Thane and I to go see the cops.

Specifically, we had to see Detective Anaya. I'd met her several months ago. Back then, I was running around, bumbling into trouble and looking for gun-toting nuts who shared my lack of self-preservation—like a justicar named Samara. Anaya was dealing with panicked bureaucratic flunkies, a sudden spike in fatalities and an intergalactic PR nightmare just waiting to happen—thanks to the exploits of a justicar named Samara. Turned out that I had the solution to both our problems, plus a few more that I'd blundered my way into. **(7)**

Figured she might be a little receptive to my request. Rescuing people from agonizing migraines and mounds of digital paperwork tends to do that.

Assuming I could find her and give it, of course. There was a _lot _of commotion at the precinct. Comms were ringing and chiming away. Cops were cajoling, wrestling or dragging members of virtually every species—all of whom were drunk, drugged to their eyeballs or just flat-out mad—to holding cells. Except for the naked salarian running down the hall. And the krogan blissfully passed out on the floor.

More comms were ringing. A pair of humans was having what could only be described as a catfight, each accusing the other of stealing their turian boyfriend. I pitied the cops who were trying to keep these civvies from doing anything worse than tear each other's hair out—literally. More pity was felt for the cops wrestling with the hanar, the one convinced he was Blasto. **(8)**

Thane and I exchanged a look. "Perhaps we should return at another time," he suggested. He had to raise his voice—a first, in my experience—to make himself heard.

"Yeah," I nodded. "We'd be lucky if we could find Anaya in this mob, much less talk to her."

"Indeed," Thane agreed. At the time, I thought his hearing was a heck of a lot better than mine, since I hadn't spoken that loudly. He later told me that he'd compensated for any missed words by reading my lips.

Having decided to give up for the time being, we turned around to go. We winced in unison as another comm went off. Thane sidestepped to the left, and I to the right, as a well-endowed asari was pinned down against a desk by a disheveled, yet remarkably composed, cop. If I didn't have anything else to do, I might've sat down with a bag of popcorn.

The things I do for the mission.

* * *

While we were waiting for the zany hijinks at the precinct to settle down, I had something else to do. Time to hook up with a certain Blue Sun.

The last time I'd bumped into Cathka was outside the Grand Mirage. He'd recognized me as the guy who'd almost electrocuted him to death as part of my devious plan to rescue 'Archangel' down in the bowels of Omega. Still, he had to acknowledge the fact that I'd spared his life, so he didn't rat me out. And he was willing to exchange a bit of intel.

One thing that had become crystal clear was how much he'd loathed his present employers. Small wonder, considering how they'd gotten the drop on him and his crew, killed a bunch of his buddies and blackmailed the survivors into a lousy and decidedly one-sided contract. For four whole months. It was a pretty safe bet that he'd be willing to listen to any proposal that offered the chance for payback.

This led me to my present circumstances: waiting idly by a kiosk and browsing the overpriced wares. I spotted him out of the corner of my eye, waited until he got close, then turned around just the right moment to fall in line beside him. "Hi there," I said brightly.

Cathka immediately slowed down. As I matched his pace, I saw his eyes darting around. No doubt he was expecting an ambush. I held up my hands before he did anything rash. "It's just me," I told him.

I meant it too: in an effort to minimize the number of faces Cathka associated with me, I decided it was best if Thane made himself scarce and followed from a distance. He was good at that sort of thing. Really good—I lost him within a couple minutes. **(9)**

"Uh huh," he said doubtfully. "How'd you find me?"

"Spotted you earlier and ran ahead a couple blocks," I lied. Given his current state of mind, he probably didn't need to know that Kasumi, at my behest, had found him and slipped a tracker into his pocket.

"Uh huh," he said again. "Whaddya want?"

"Thought you'd be interested in learning a few new facts about your current boss," I replied. "And a theory on why that ambush four months ago might not have been a complete surprise after all."

That got his attention. His eyes—all four of them—narrowed. "Tell me," he demanded.

"Not here," I shook my head. "Too public."

He grunted and gestured for me to follow him. I complied, though not before double-checking that all my weapons were fully loaded, my omni-tool was primed to let loose a fireball, and my pathetic excuse for a cloak was ready to go. Surreptitiously, of course.

For a moment, I thought we'd be going to the pizza joint we went to last time. I wound up being disappointed, as we went into an alley, down some stairs and into some poorly lit dungeon that reeked. Though the smells quickly got drowned out by the sludge Cathka ordered for us.

"What is this?" I wanted to know.

"A batarian delicacy," Cathka replied.

"Really?"

"Well, it's batarian," he amended.

Wonderful. I took a very small spoonful into my mouth. Okay, maybe I just licked it. And, to my surprise, I found it wasn't quite as bad as I thought. But that's because some of my cooking attempts were infinitely worse. Definitely worse. Probably worse. **(10)**

Cathka didn't eat much either, but that was probably less a matter of taste buds writhing in horror and more a case of urgent curiosity. "You said you have intel on Trask," he said. "Details. Now."

Right to the point. I could live with that. So could my stomach, for that matter. "First, my name isn't Ben Pillar."

"No shit," Cathka snorted.

"My name is Carmichael. Charles Carmichael. Alliance Intelligence."

Again, another lie. Not the best start to any kind of friendship or working relationship, but it couldn't be helped. If word got out that Commander Shepard, former science project and resident cybernetic ninja zombie kleptomaniac, was bumbling around, Cerberus would probably respond in greater force and with more surprises. Call me crazy, but I'd like to avoid that if possible.

"My 'client'—Alliance Intelligence—sent me here to intercept a package from Cerberus."

"Cerberus," Cathka repeated.

"Yep," I confirmed. "Unfortunately, that plan kinda fell apart. Fortunately, we know the package is hiding somewhere in the vault of the Grand Mirage, thanks to the intervention of Conrad Trask."

"And why is Trask helping Cerberus?" Cathka asked.

"I don't know the exact reasons," I admitted. "But he's been sending payments, business reports and snippets of intelligence to Cerberus. And the language and frequency suggests that this didn't happen out of nowhere. I took the liberty of doing a bit of digging and this is what I found."

Resting my left arm on the table, I activated my omni-tool and accessed a file I'd made a few hours ago, one that summarized the three months Kasumi initially sent us, plus a few more months that we accessed once she got us backdoor access. A page of text shimmered into view between us. Cathka leaned forward. As he read on, he grew very, very still.

"As you can see," I said, "Trask and his minions found out about your activities on Illium. He told Cerberus and requested further instructions. Their response was prompt and to the point: find out where you were hiding, make sure no one could get away, eliminate as many Blue Suns as possible, and force any survivors into slavery. At some point, Cerberus would 'rescue' you, with the aim of using your gratitude to make inroads into the Blue Suns."

"I thought Cerberus was a bunch of pro-human whackos," Cathka growled. "Doesn't take a genius to find out that there are batarians and turians working in the Blue Suns too."

"I'm sure they did," I reassured him. "And yeah, some of the more extreme members would probably balk at the idea of dealing with non-humans. **(11)** But it stands to reason that there are a couple more practical-minded whackos amongst their ranks who don't mind using non-humans as long as it furthers their goals." The last year or so had proven that beyond a doubt, though I wasn't about to admit it out loud. "If nothing else, they probably would treat you guys as cannon fodder. Promise lots of pay…"

"…but they don't have to shell out a single credit if all the mercs get killed," Cathka finished. "I know. We used the same trick when we were hiring freelancers to take out Archangel." He scooped up a big steaming spoonful of sludge and stuffed it in his mouth. Then he winced—I wasn't sure if it was from the heat or the taste. "Well," he said after swallowing, "I have been looking for ways to get offworld. Guess it's time to look a little harder."

"Before you do that, maybe you could do something else first," I suggested. "After all Trask has done to ruin your day, not to mention your friends, wouldn't you be interested in ruining _his _day?"

"Is Illium overpriced and full of blue tits?" Cathka asked rhetorically. "What're you thinking?"

"I was thinking of making Trask nervous," I replied. "There's a number of things I could do; one of which you could help me out with."

"Yeah? What's that?"

I leaned forward towards Cathka. "I'm gonna give you a thousand credits, plus an extra thousand credits each for the other Blue Suns. Then you're going to report to Trask and say that some guy—who doesn't look like me, mind you—tried to pay you for information about the Grand Mirage. Then Trask is going to stew in his office and wonder how many employees he had who _weren't _honest enough to 'fess up."

"He's gonna hate that," Cathka rasped.

"Damn straight," I nodded. "Of course, you could keep the credits. But wouldn't you rather see him squirm?"

The feral grin on Cathka's face was all the answer I needed.

* * *

Cathka and the other Blue Suns weren't the only good, honest, faithful employees of the Grand Mirage who would come in tomorrow and report being approached with a bribe. Jacob and Zaeed were in on it too. Had to look after my squad, after all.

Now there was always the possibility that this might draw more suspicion towards them. This was why I'd gone to the trouble of depositing some thousand-credit installments in the accounts of random Mirage employees. Not surprisingly, Zaeed insisted that Milbarge be one of them.

That made eight hard-working guys, all of whom would be approaching their superiors. Plus a couple dozen employees who, if anyone checked, appeared to have been bought off over the next day because they hadn't reported their ill-gotten earnings.

One might wonder how I managed to get my hands on thirty or forty thousand credits. Surprisingly enough, I didn't have to rummage in crates, peek in corners or make agonizing decisions about whether I should line my wallet with credits or shoot the bad guys with guns. All I had to do was make a withdrawal from the Bank of Conrad Trask, courtesy of my friendly bank tellers Tali and Legion. Specifically, a withdrawal from a ten-year term deposit that could be accessed at any time, despite the fact that Trask hadn't done so in the last eight years. Considering that there were several better rates that had been offered during that time, it was entirely possible that Trask had forgotten all about it. Especially since he had five hundred and thirty-one other deposits to juggle.

It must be so hard to be so fabulously wealthy.

The point is that while I had a lot of term deposits and accounts to work with; it seemed prudent to pick the one that enjoyed the least scrutiny or activity. Pilfering the contents of one that was more frequently used might set Trask off prematurely. And while I was at it, I filled out my own accounts—the ones that had been used again and again and AGAIN to pay for various exorbitant purchases. You have no idea what a relief it was to see those accounts fill up five or ten credits at a time.

And while things were looking up for me, they were getting worse for Trask. He might not know it yet, but they were.

Anyway, now that Cathka was on board, it was time to give Anaya another shot. Maybe Thane and I would be lucky this time. We went to the precinct and walked through the doors…

…

Wow.

The difference was almost night and day. Comms were silent. Cops were sitting calmly at their desks, working at their computers. The number of civvies and crooks had dropped to a mere handful, all of whom were handcuffed and sitting quietly as they were being processed.

Krogan was still snoring on the floor, though. Surprised no one bothered to move him biotically. Guess they were too tired to bother.

In this oasis of calm and tranquility, it was easy to find Detective Anaya. She was sitting at her desk, no doubt filling a couple virtual hard drives worth of reports and forms. She looked up as I approached and gave a slight smile. "Shepard," she greeted me.

"Detective," I returned. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know," she shrugged. "This and that. You missed one heck of a party earlier."

"I actually saw some of it," I admitted. "Would've stuck around, but I realized I forgot my ticket. Didn't want to pull any of your guys away to throw me out. Not when you already had your hands full."

"Appreciate it," she sighed. "Last thing we needed was a party crasher. I hate this time of the month."

Sounded familiar. Heard it all the time from my sister. **(12)** Full moon brought out all the crazies, she'd say. And the incredibly lazy and stupid, she'd add after a particularly stressful shift. Didn't matter whether there was an actual moon in the immediate vicinity. Somewhere in the galaxy, she'd say, there was a full moon that prompted a massive shitstorm of stupid. Well, the last four words came from me, but the sentiment was there.

Anyway, the point is that if she was here, she'd no doubt commiserate with Anaya. So would Garrus, if he was here. But neither of them was present, so she'd have to settle for me. "If it makes you feel any better," I offered, "you could deal with all this craziness every single day. Like me."

"Yes," she said with a wry smile. "That's true. But you can deal with your craziness by shooting at it until it goes away. Speaking of which, is that why you're here? More craziness? Or are you in the midst of another impossible cause?"

"No to the impossible cause," I replied. "I think I've met my quota for the year. I am stuck with a particularly crazy problem that I'm trying to resolve, though. But first I have a question."

"Shoot."

"If word got around that a justicar was in town, what would happen?"

Anaya rolled her eyes. "Bureaucrats and politicians would announce what a great job they're doing in preserving law and order every hour on the hour. Everyone who was remotely dirty would try to buy a ticket offworld or bury themselves in a deep, dark hole. The flow of illegal shipments would grind to a halt or languish in the docking bays. People would stop skimming credits into their private offworld accounts or seeing their mistresses. Stores would stop gouging their customers and actually fill their inventories for the first time in Goddess knows how long. In short, everyone would panic."

"Everyone would panic," I repeated.

"Yes."

A smile spread slowly over my face. "Perfect."

"Is there a justicar in town?"

"Does it matter?"

"Actually, it does." Anaya gestured around. "You say you saw how nuts this place was earlier. Do you realize how much worse it's gonna be if people find out that a justicar's arrived? We're talking a pain in the ass like you wouldn't believe. The stress and workload we're gonna face will go through the roof, into orbit and out into the next star system. At _least_. And you want to volunteer us for this crap?"

Okay. She had a point. I could see how that would be unfair. My bad for not explaining things properly. "You have a point," I agreed, somewhat meekly. "That's why I came to you first. At the very least, you'll get the heads-up before I drop the hammer."

"You're still gonna make us suffer, you know," Anaya groaned.

"Only if word spreads outside the precinct," I replied. "Surely you guys have an intranet or something to pass things around from cop to cop."

"Yeah."

"That's all I need."

Anaya relaxed for a nanosecond. Then her eyes narrowed. "You just asked how much trouble would result if the public found out a justicar might be present. Then you want me to spread that rumour, but in such a way that the public wouldn't find out. Unless they had a way in that we don't know about. A way _you _know about."

I had a feeling she might pick up on that. She _did _make detective, after all. Now came the tricky part: "That's right," I admitted. "I don't know the specifics, but I know it exists. I know who's using it. But they don't know that I know they know." I paused, mentally reciting what I said to confirm I got the order right. Satisfied I didn't screw it up, I continued: "I'm hoping to use that against them to spring a little surprise.

"Here's my proposal: you play along and tell your colleagues that a justicar might be nosing around. Say an anonymous source told you or whatever makes sense. The people I'm interested in—the one with a feeler or two in your system—will find out. With any luck, they'll react. When they do, I'll be waiting."

"And then?" Anaya prompted.

"Once I've got what I want, I'll tell you what I know," I said. "That'll give you someone to question, arrest and—hopefully—bring to justice. Meanwhile, I'll leave with someone to question, arrest and—"

"All right, I get the picture," Anaya interrupted, raising a hand to stop me. She lowered her hand and leaned back in her chair, as her face assumed a contemplative expression. I did the same, waiting for her to come to a decision. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long.

I really had to pee.

* * *

_(__1): Salarian sex is entirely devoid of romance, sexual attraction or the usual biological and social complications encountered by most species. Reproduction, or to be more precise, fertilization, occurs after months of careful negotiations between the parents' clans, using data such as detailed pedigree charts, to further or improve political and dynastic alliances._

_(2): Most people would say the former but skip the latter. _

_(3): A human idiom requesting some sort of small hint, favour, concession or recognition._

_(4): Another human expression where an individual, having witnessed or experienced one event, waits for another event to occur._

(5): Little did Shepard know how prophetic that example would become. 

_(6): C2, or 'command and control,' is a human military term for the exercise of authority, leadership and direction by a commander to accomplish the mission. This is done by using a combination of personnel, equipment, facilities, protocols and other resources in planning, directing, coordinating and coordinating forces and operations. _

_(7): Specifically, Shepard recruited Samara away from Illium, found evidence linking the mercenary group Eclipse to a dead volus merchant and found further evidence that the merchant's partner was smuggling drugs and weapons into Illium for Eclipse. _

_(8): A fictional character renowned for being the first hanar Spectre, having 'a lover in every port and a gun in every tentacle.' He originally began as a joke on a first-person-shooter/role-playing-game extranet thread, but the concept became popular enough to spawn numerous graphic novels and films. _

_(9): Thane pulled a similar vanishing act back on the Citadel, when Shepard was helping him with a family problem._

_(10): While cooking wasn't exactly Shepard's strong suit, I have been told that it was never that bad. Furthermore, I have been assured that it has improved over time. _

_(11): He was right on that count._

_(12): Dr. Eleanor Faye Bartowski-Woodcomb grew up with Shepard, thanks to their parents' efforts to give their children a measure of stability and consistency in their childhood as they moved around. As a result, Shepard regarded 'Ellie' as his surrogate sister and was ferociously protective of her. The sentiment, by the way, was 100% reciprocated. _


End file.
